Learning to Fly Again
by JoeyStar
Summary: While Alan struggles to recover from the accident, his family's attempts to protect him from the ugly truth only lead him even further into danger. Sequel to "The Words I Wish I'd Said".
1. Chapter One: Picking up the Pieces

**A****/N: **This is the long-awaited sequel to "The Words I Wish I'd Said", which has been stuck in development hell for the last couple of years through a combination of writer's block, full time work and a little thing called life. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but after editing it to within an inch of its life, I figure it's as good as it will ever be and so it's time to take a step back. From the first fifteen chapters that is - I'm still writing the sixteenth. Hopefully I'll have it finished by the time we get there... Anyway, enjoy, and let me know what you think.

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Picking up the Pieces<strong>

"How are you feeling today?"

" … Okay."

"Just okay?"

"Better."

"Better than… ?"

"Than I felt before."

There was a brief silence. A pen scratched across a blank piece of paper. It was distracting; irritating. Why did everything he said have to be written down?

"And is there anything in particular that you'd like to talk about?"

"Not really."

"Nothing on your mind?"

"No. Everything's fine."

"Why do I get the feeling that you're telling me what I want to hear?" The pen paused in its journey and the holder sighed. "Alan, how many times do we have to go through this? These sessions aren't for my own enjoyment – they're a part of your recovery process. They're for _your_ benefit."

Alan Tracy stared out of the window and didn't reply. With the office being on the twenty-ninth floor, he had an unobstructed view out across the city. Hundreds of metres below him cars queued impatiently at traffic lights, and men and women hurried up and down the sidewalks. Directly outside the building, a pair of men were helping a woman out of a car and into her waiting wheelchair.

"Alan?"

He turned reluctantly back to the room's other occupant. The woman had put her clipboard to one side and was watching him from over the top of her black-framed glasses. A slender, middle-aged blonde, Dr Tomass had become an unpleasantly permanent fixture in Alan's life over the last several months, much like the single crutch that now lay beside him on the leather coach. It wasn't that he didn't like the woman or anything – on the contrary, she was very kind, considerate and all she ever wanted to do was listen to him. Which was where the problems began. Because while Alan Tracy usually had no trouble speaking about himself to whoever would listen, this was one subject he wasn't ready to discuss. And Dr Tomass, with her perfect hair and her perfect teeth, just kept smiling at him, pen poised above her clipboard. The woman had a will of tempered steel.

"Alan?" she repeated, voice gentle, caring.

It didn't help. If anything, her sympathy only irritated him further. Why did she have to be so _nice _all the time? He wasn't being nice – he was being angry, obstinate and refusing to answer her questions. And yet still she sat there, just _watching_ him.

Didn't his silence tell her that he didn't want to talk about this? Every session it was the same – her asking endless questions and him doing his best to avoid answering them. Sometimes he wanted to scream at her, "How do you _think_ I feel? I almost _died_. I lost months of my life and then I had to learn to walk again!"

But he never did. After all, that was what she _wanted _him to say. She'd probably be delighted at such an outburst. Her blue pen would go scribbling enthusiastically across the pad of paper on her clipboard.

So Alan remained silent, giving her mindless platitudes where she wanted real emotion and half-truths where she wanted honesty. The same game, every other Thursday afternoon, for the past three months.

"Alan?" Dr Tomass sounded a little impatient now and Alan realised he'd been staring at the woman without really seeing her. She pulled her glasses off and rubbed her forehead. When he finally met her eyes, her gaze was frank. "Why are we doing this?"

It wasn't the question he had been expecting. "Er …"

"Because as far as I can tell, the only thing that these sessions have achieved so far is a lot of wasted time."

Alan blinked, taken aback by the woman's sudden candour and the fact that she seemed to be reading his mind. "Er…" he said again, grappling desperately for some kind of eloquence.

"You obviously don't want to be here, which makes me think that you're bowing to some kind of paternal pressure. And as much as I respect your father and admire the fact that you are trying to please him by coming here, this situation is helping no one. You're wasting your father's money and you're taking up an hour of my schedule that could be used by somebody who actually _wants_ my help."

Alan suddenly felt ashamed. Dr Tomass's words had been piteous, but accurate. And at the end of the day, she was only doing her job. She probably dreaded these sessions as much as he did. And his Dad… what was his Dad going to say when he found out how his time with Dr Tomass was going? Alan had been able to put him off for the first few weeks, but both his dad and his brothers were impatient to know how his recovery was progressing. He had to tell them something and the thought of admitting how much of a failure the sessions were filled him with dread.

"Level with me Alan. Do you want to be here, talking to me?"

Alan sighed and ran one hand through his hair. "No," he admitted finally.

"Finally, some honesty!"

Her reaction surprised him. She was smiling and the clipboard had somehow found it's way onto the table beside her chair. She clasped her hands together and leaned forward in her chair. "And what would you rather be doing?"

What would he rather be doing …? A pretty dark-skinned face jumped into his mind, one with a sweet smile attached that always managed to make his insides melt. Pretty much anything he would rather be doing involved her in someway. Before he could stop himself, he said as much aloud and Dr Tomass laughed.

"Nice to know that you're a normal young man after all – I was beginning to wonder."

Alan raised his eyebrows. This was getting weirder and weirder by the moment. Where had the staid, practical Dr Tomass gone?

"Tell me about this Tin-Tin."

And strangely, Alan found himself complying. It was so easy to talk about Tin-Tin – and such a relief to finally have something to fill the hour with. He'd never spoken so openly about anything to anyone, but there was just something so neutral and ultimately non-threatening about Dr Tomass that as soon as the words started, he couldn't hold them back any longer.

"She sounds like an amazing girl," Dr Tomass commented when Alan's words finally dried up.

He blushed, realising that he'd been gushing like a thirteen-year old girl. "Yeah."

"And do you talk to Tin-Tin about your accident?"

"Sometimes."

"What kind of things do you tell her?"

Alan shrugged. "How I'm feeling. She worries about me a hell of a lot more since I had the accident. They all do."

"Your family?"

"Yeah."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"I dunno … it's irritating sometimes, I guess. They're always fussing over me, like I'm something delicate that's going to shatter if they don't watch me."

"They must care about you a great deal."

"They do and I'm grateful but …"

"But?"

"But they're not helping."

Dr Tomass looked thoughtful. "So you see this as something you need to get through on your own?"

"No I just – well, I _am _alone, aren't I?"

"How so?"

"Well, they can't know what it was like. To be – to almost –" Alan swallowed.

"To almost die?" Dr Tomass suggested gently.

Alan nodded, suddenly feeling horribly exposed by the turn the conversation had taken. He had seen it coming of course, but for some reason hadn't felt inclined to change the subject as he had so many times in the past. If anything, it actually felt good to finally talk about his feelings; painful, but good. He was calmly admitting things that he'd been wanting to say to his family for months now. It seemed there was truth in the old adage that talking to strangers was easier than talking to those you were close to.

"When I first woke up – after the accident – I didn't understand what was happening. There was a – tube – or something, in my mouth, and it felt like it was choking me. I couldn't breathe; I tried to pull it away, but my hands wouldn't work and … Then when they told me that I'd lost more than two months of my life, and that I had to learn to walk again …" He picked at a seam on the leather chair as his voice dropped to a whisper. " … I've never been so scared."

"Was that so hard to admit?"

Startled, Alan looked up. Dr Tomass smiled slightly at his expression.

"Alan, what you went through was a horrific experience. Frankly, I'd be worried if it hadn't scared you. But what you have to understand is that there's no shame in being afraid. It's a very natural, healthy reaction."

"Not in my family."

"In _every_ family, Alan. Coming from a family of men I can understand why you may not see it, but believe me – it's there."

He must have looked sceptical because she leaned forward and touched his arm. "Alan, what do you think your family felt during those months that you were in the coma?"

What had his family felt... how was he supposed to know? Sadness? Worry … or something deeper? The plush furnishings of Doctor Tomass's office faded away and snippets of conversations began welling up in Alan's mind.

"_You've finally achieved what you've always wanted – you're not just going to throw all that away are you?"_

"_I should have made more of an effort. When we were together … I should have got to know you better."_

"_You're a good kid Alan, with a lot of potential. Don't let things end here."_

"_You can't sleep forever and there are things I want – things I _need_ to tell you."_

"_And now you're here and I'm so scared that it's too late …"_

Different voices, but the emotion behind them was the same. Fear. Fear for him, fear for themselves and fear for what the future might bring. It was shaping everything. Why had he never seen it before?

"You're not alone in this, Alan. I know you might feel like that at the moment, but the people around you – your family, Tin-Tin – they'll do anything to help. That's probably why you're feeling suffocated; they want to help you, but they don't know how."

"They're afraid they might make things worse," Alan said slowly, "and they're afraid if they don't try to help me that things will get worse anyway."

"Exactly."

He looked up at Doctor Tomass. "But what if I don't want their help? What if I just want to be left alone?"

She held his gaze. "Is that what you really want, Alan?"

"I …"

Why was he hesitating? It had always been what he wanted before … hadn't it? To be left alone, to deal with all his twisted, mixed-up emotions in his own time. To only talk when _he _wanted to – which was not at all. But if that was still true then why had he just poured his heart out to Dr Tomass?

"I don't know," he found himself saying.

Dr Tomass smiled. "Then we're finally beginning to make some progress."

* * *

><p>Tin-Tin Kyrano stared up at the sky.<p>

She always woke up early on the days that Alan was due back from one of his appointments with Doctor Tomass. Why, she wasn't sure; it wasn't as if he ever had anything new to tell her. Tin-Tin knew how much Alan resented the visits. If it wasn't for the ever-watchful eyes of his family, she was sure Alan would have stopped going weeks ago.

It was always the same. He left on the Thursday morning, attending the counselling session in the afternoon and then stayed in Auckland overnight before flying home the following morning. Not alone, of course; with his body still recovering from the accident, Mr Tracy wasn't allowing Alan behind the wheel of even the gentlest aircraft. One of his brothers always accompanied him – his 'nursemaids' Alan called them. Tin-Tin was glad it was John who had gone with him today. He was the least volatile of all of Alan's siblings and with him for company, the whole excursion was less likely to end in the usual argument.

At least Alan was showing some kind of emotion now. He had been so remote and close-mouthed in those first weeks after the accident. On the rare occasions that he'd brought the subject up, there had been such bitterness there that it had worried Tin-Tin. When he'd finally agreed the see Doctor Tomass, Tin-Tin had hoped it signalled a turning point in his recovery. They all had. But while Alan maintained to his family that the sessions were helping, he hadn't been able to hide his dread and despondency from her. It was so clear that Tin-Tin couldn't understand why the rest of the Tracy's couldn't see it. Maybe they were too busy believing what they wanted to believe: that Alan was getting better and soon everything was going to be back to normal.

"Hey, Tin-Tin."

The voice startled her and she dropped the magazine she had been pretending to leaf through. Squinting up against the morning sun she saw a tall figure detach itself from the shadows of the jungle and move towards her. His wet hair shone like molten copper as he dropped down onto the sunlounger and shook his head like a dog, spraying her with droplets of water.

"You're up early."

"And I've already had my morning shower, thanks Gordon."

He grinned at her before flopping back on the sunlounger and tucking his arms behind his head. "A little water never hurt anyone."

"If you knew how long it had taken me to do my hair this morning …"

He scrutinised her and Tin-Tin instantly regretted her flippant remark. When the wicked grin spread across his face, she regretted it even more.

"You're looking _particularly_ nice today."

Refusing to rise to the bait, Tin-Tin calmly flicked through the magazine. It was only when she ran out of pages that she was forced to look up again. Gordon was still watching her, his eyes dancing.

"What?" she demanded finally.

"Nothing." He adopted an artfully innocent expression. Tin-Tin continued to stare at him and after a moment, he laughed and relaxed again. "But if you really want to know, I was wondering why you would make such an effort this early in the morning."

"I haven't made an effort," Tin-Tin protested, but he wasn't listening.

"Now let's see … who could you possibly be making an effort for?"

"No one."

"I'm pretty sure it's not me … and Scott's got that girl in England that he thinks no one knows about, so it's not him …"

"Gordon."

"What about John? Maybe you're going in for the whole long-distance thing …"

"_Gordon_."

"Or Virgil? You guys have got that whole science and mechanics thing going on –"

"Stop it."

"No, something tells me that it's the youngest of our little flock that you've got a personal interest in. But honestly Tin-Tin – washed hair, new clothes? Is Alan really worth all of this effort?"

"Gordon – _stop it_."

Something in her tone pulled him up short and there was an awkward silence. Tin-Tin blinked rapidly, furious with herself for losing her composure. She was normally so calm and collected, but ever since Alan's accident she had been a victim of her surging emotions. It was like being on a rollercoaster; it only took something small to push her over the edge. It was exhausting – and frightening. How had Alan become the most important thing in her life so quickly?

The sunlounger next to hers creaked as Gordon shifted his weight. Tin-Tin dug her nails into her palm. The silence stretched to breaking point. She opened her mouth.

"I didn't mean –"

"I'm sorry –"

A bird shrilled somewhere above them, shattering the tension. Gordon chuckled. Tin-Tin smiled weakly and dropped the magazine onto the patio. Lying back, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on how good the warm sun felt on her bare skin. Beside her, Gordon shifted about for a moment and then he too was still.

The bird cried again, a shrill, warbling sound that sent chills down Tin-Tin's spine. She pictured it souring on the thermal currents above her, white feathers reflecting the glare of the sun. Effortless, free, spiralling higher in higher in the piercing blue sky.

The sunlounger next to hers creaked gently. "Tin-Tin … how is he?"

She didn't need to ask who Gordon meant. And if she was honest, she'd long been expecting this question. Even before she and Alan had gone beyond 'just friends', he'd confided in her things that he would never tell his brothers, close as they all were. It was part of what made her believe these growing feelings between her and Alan could work – he trusted her with his secrets. But if he really wanted his brothers to know, then surely he would tell them himself?

So … "Why don't you ask him?"

"I have." All traces of humour had vanished from Gordon's voice. He sounded flat, lost, almost desperate. "But you know what Alan's been like recently. He's hardly said a word to anyone about how he's feeling. Apart from you."

"Gordon …"

"Look, we're all really worried about him. He says these sessions with Doctor what's-her-name are working, but we're not seeing any signs of it over here. We're just – dammit Tin-Tin, he's my little brother! I just want to know if he's doing okay."

Tin-Tin opened her eyes. Gordon was still lying on his back, gazing blankly up at the sky. His hair had almost dried by now; it curled messily around his face. There was a seriousness to his expression that Tin-Tin wasn't used to seeing. He wasn't going to let the subject go this time.

What was she supposed to say? Anyone who looked at him could tell that Alan wasn't doing okay. When he wasn't sullen and withdrawn, he was snapping at anyone who breathed in the same space as him. So while she could palm him off by pointing this out, Tin-Tin knew what Gordon was really asking.

"I … I don't think he's okay," she said finally. "He's angry and he's scared … and he doesn't know what to do or who to talk to."

"He could talk to us. His family –"

Tin-Tin shook her head. "No, he can't. He can barely talk to me and I'm his –" She pulled herself up short. Thankfully, Gordon let that one go.

She looked up at the sky again, eyes following a bird as it soured across the blue expanse. "I think he will be okay," she said after a pause. "It's just going to take some time."

Gordon sighed. "I guess that's all we can hope for."


	2. Chapter Two: Turning Point

**A/N: **Okay so I admit I'm a little disappointed at the limited number of reviews the first chapter received in relation to the number of hits. I'm not a review-hound, but as this is a story I'm a little unsure about it would be good to get some feedback to find out how it's coming across. So please, let me know your thoughts, suggestions, likes, dislikes etc etc. Feedback is how we improve as writers and that's something I'm always looking to do.

Having said that, thanks to everyone who did review and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Turning Point<strong>

As Tracy One touched down on the tarmac, Alan felt the last vestiges of his calm fading away. Finally talking to Doctor Tomass had been almost cathartic for him. A turning point, the doctor had said. A breakthrough. But as he drew closer and closer to Tracy Island, he began to lose his newfound sense that things really were going to get better. It was like he was being sucked back into a bubble that he couldn't escape from. At least John, his pilot for the journey home, had been restrained enough to restrict his worrying to a few initial questions after he'd picked Alan up. The rest of their conversation had been about stupid, mundane things and it had been a relief not to have to dissect his latest session with Doctor Tomass straight away. Alan blessed whoever's idea it had been to send the quiet, patient brother to pick him up today.

Unfortunately, the rest of his family weren't likely to be so patient. Alan knew from experience that the questions would start as soon as he stepped off the plane. _How did the session go? How are you feeling? Do you want to talk? What did Doctor Tomass say?_

They always wanted the same damn things. Couldn't they see that he didn't want to talk – that he wasn't ready to? Alan felt the tension well up inside of him as the plane rolled to a standstill. All those expectant faces, all those hopeful smiles – he felt like he was going to be physically sick. How could his family make him feel so unhappy?

"Right. Here we are then." John switched the engine off and swung around in his seat. Crossing to the hatch, he wrenched it open and watched as the steps dropped slowly towards the ground. "After you."

Alan stood up carefully, balancing his crutch under one arm and swinging his bag over his shoulder. He braced himself and then climbed slowly out of the plane.

The hanger was empty.

Alan blinked, foot hanging awkwardly off the top step. But no, he hadn't been mistaken – the hanger really was empty. For a moment he stood there, his foot waggling ridiculously in the air, and then John nudged him from behind and he climbed carefully down. The hanger was empty. There would be no questions – at least for the moment. Alan smiled.

John followed him down the steps. "It's quiet," he observed, closing the hatch behind them.

Alan laughed, surprising himself. Now that the pressure of his welcoming committee had passed, he could relax again. Maybe have a swim in the pool. Take in some sun. Think about anything else apart from the months he had lost and how close he had come to death.

"Wonder where the welcoming committee is …?" John smiled slyly at his younger brother's surprise. "You think I didn't notice you looked like you were facing your own execution?"

Alan bristled. "I just get sick – "

" – Of people caring?"

Doctor Tomass' words rang through his mind and he bit back an angry retort. "I'm not going to shatter if you guys leave me alone for five minutes," he said tightly.

"Hell, _I _know that. Do you think I want to play babysitter on my days off? Geez Al, you're gonna be nineteen soon. You'd think you'd be able to look after yourself by now."

Alan couldn't help grinning at John's wiry humour. He'd forgotten how good company his blond brother could be. In fact, he thought a little guiltily, he'd forgotten how good company all of his brothers could be when they weren't trying to mother him to death.

_And you aren't scowling and snapping_, his conscience remarked.

John moved off across the floor of the hanger, making no move to help as Alan juggled his bag and the stupid, hateful crutch. Once he had it locked under his arm, he followed his brother up into the villa.

John was right: it really was ridiculously quiet. The hallways were deserted and, outside, the surface of the pools was still. Which of course meant only one thing: a rescue.

Still following John, Alan limped up to their father's office. His older brother held the door open for him without comment and they both entered the room to find it in full 'command centre' mode.

" – _the situation is stable, it's just going to take some time,"_ a familiar voice was saying._ "The only difficulty we're having is making ourselves understood. The mayor doesn't speak a great deal of English and my Mandarin is pretty non-existent –"_

"I think I've got someone who can help you there, Scott." Jeff Tracy twisted around in his chair and waved his sons over. As his eyes moved to study his youngest son's face, Alan braced himself for the interrogation that was sure to follow. Instead his father simply said, "Good timing, boys. John, we could use your help with the Chinese."

"Sure." John slid into the seat next to their father and began speaking to Scott.

Alan limped closer and peered over Jeff's shoulder. "What's the situation?"

"Fire in a factory in the middle of Shanghai," his father replied distractedly. He was following the conversation between Scott and John. What Alan assumed was Mandarin was now being traded back and forth.

"Another fire …" Weird, now that Alan thought about it. There been an unusually large number of fires and explosions amongst the handful of rescues his brother's had carried out during his recovery. What was up with that?

His father's mobile rang suddenly, jarringly, cutting through John's stream of Mandarin and making them all jump. Jeff eyed the caller ID and grimaced. "I really have to take this. John, can you manage?"

"We've got it covered, Sir." John paused and looked over his shoulder at his father. "If I can borrow Alan?"

Jeff looked at him sharply and then turned his hard gaze onto his youngest son. Alan wondered if his father had suddenly realised that he was still standing in the middle of the command centre. Typically anytime a rescue had taken place during his recovery, Jeff had ordered him to go and lie down. He hadn't even been allowed to sit in the command centre and watch; it had been just one more frustration to add to the increasing feeling that he was being suffocated by his family.

"Alan?" Jeff said finally.

Alan met his blue eyes firmly. Doctor Tomass had said some pretty compelling things about how if you he wanted his life to change then he was going to have to be the catalyst for that change. Might as well start now. "I'm ready, Sir."

He could tell his dad wanted to disagree. But the mobile was still ringing and John was still waiting and who knows what was going on at the factory in Shanghai. And at the root of it all, while Jeff Tracy was a father first, he was also an expert on knowing which way to jump when faced with a difficult decision.

"Do it," he said curtly, standing up and striding out of the command centre with the mobile clamped to his ear. "But this is a one-off, understand?"

Alan slid into the seat his dad had vacated, feeling as if he'd won some kind of personal victory. _Babysteps,_ Doctor Tomass' voice echoed in his mind._ Day by day. Your family love you; never forget that. Just be as patient with them as they are being with you_.

"Al, you with me?"

John had caught him daydreaming. Blushing Alan drew his chair closer to the desk and nodded. "What can I do?"

* * *

><p>Three hours later and an exhausted but jubilant team emerged from the silos under Tracy Island. Even Scott was smiling – which was something of a rarity these days – and Gordon's humour seemed to be on top form. Virgil was grinning tolerantly as his younger brother horsed around while Tin-Tin was casting about for Alan. There was no way he wasn't back by now and after all the effort she'd gone to this morning …<p>

Of course, it was typical for a rescue call to come in after she'd put so much time and energy into her appearance. Now she probably looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to track Alan down; maybe she should retreat to her room first.

Too late. It seemed the remaining Tracys had gathered in the lounge to await the return of the rescue team. Jeff Tracy no doubt wanted a full debrief as soon as possible. John Tracy probably wanted to say goodbye before he relieved Brains and Fermat up in Thunderbird 5. But Alan Tracy? Even Tin-Tin was finding it hard to work out what Alan wanted these days.

She tried to prepare herself as she followed his brother's across the lounge. He was probably going to be in a foul mood; he always was after his appointments with the psychologist. Either that or morose to the point of depression. Either was bad enough, but coupled with the endless, growing frustration that he felt towards his family and sometimes she felt like it was too much for her to cope with. She was nineteen for God's sake. She was supposed to be having fun with a boy, not struggling to support him as he slowly self-destructed.

So when Alan raised his head and actually _smiled_ at her, Tin-Tin thought she'd stumbled into some kind of alternative dimension. It had been so long since he'd looked … perhaps not _happy_, but maybe content. She's almost forgotten what a devastating effect his smile had on her. Her cheeks were flushing so hotly she was grateful for her dark skin. Hope rose up inside her – was he finally making some progress?

She hung back as his brothers clustered around their father. Alan greeted his returning brothers and then, perhaps before they could start enquiring about his health, he stood up and made his way carefully across the room towards her.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself." He shifted, playing with the top of the crutch. "Can we talk?"

Tin-Tin glanced across at his family. Virgil and John were laughing at some quip Gordon had made and Scott was looking at his father. Jeff Tracy was watching her and Alan. When he caught her gaze, he turned back to speak to Scott.

"If it's okay with –" Tin-Tin waved her hand in the direction of his family.

Alan shrugged. "They've got to debrief." The unspoken words, _And they don't need me,_ hung in the air between them, but for once Alan didn't seem irritated by that fact.

So she smiled up at him and said, "Where do you want to go then?"

* * *

><p>They walked down to the beach. It was slow progress; Alan could walk now, with the aid of the crutch, but he was by no means as fast as he had been. Tin-Tin didn't mind – she ambled beside him, holding his hand – but she could tell it still annoyed Alan. For someone who was normally so active, his convalescence had been like some kind of nightmare. He'd literally had to rebuild all the muscle strength in his body and the fact that the end was almost in sight made him even more impatient. Even when he was fully recovered, Tin-Tin knew he wouldn't be content until Mr Tracy declared him fit for International Rescue duty again. And by the haunted look that echoed in Jeff Tracy's eyes every time he looked at his youngest, Tin-Tin sometimes wondered if that was <em>ever<em> going to happen.

She flopped down onto the sand and watched as Alan awkwardly followed suit. She knew better than to help him and in truth, he didn't really need the help. Some residual weakness in his left leg meant he still had to use the crutch to move around but beyond that, his health had improved dramatically.

"I spoke to Doctor Tomass today."

Tin-Tin lay back on the sand and gazed up at the sky, just as she had the day before. It was a clear, perfect blue, with a few thin wisps of cloud. "Alan, you speak to her every other week," she pointed out gently.

"This time it was different."

"How so?"

"This time I listened to her."

Tin-Tin rolled over onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. Alan's legs were stretched out in front of him. The skin on his legs and bare feet was still quite pale. She wondered how long it would be until his usual tan returned. "You listened?"

Alan smiled slightly at her tone. "She … persuaded me to."

"And?"

"And … I realised that she's been talking a lot of sense. And that maybe … maybe I should have listened earlier."

It was a big omission, coming from Alan. Tin-Tin knew better than to mock him, as Gordon might, or say something pointed like Scott would have. Instead she simply waited patiently for him to continue.

"I've just been so angry all the time," he muttered at length, not looking at her. "Hating what happened, hating my family for constantly fussing about it, hating the whole damn situation. Bottling everything up inside. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to explode." His hands balled into fists, catching up grains of sand between his fingers. "It's all so unfair."

Tin-Tin dug her feet into the sand and didn't say anything.

"It's unfair," Alan repeated, his voice growing louder. "And it makes me so mad. I mean, what did I do to deserve this? I risk my life on a _daily_ basis to help other people. Isn't that good enough in the cosmic balance of things? Am I supposed to be some kind of saint to stop things like this happening to me?"

"I don't think life works that way."

"Well it should. Bad things shouldn't happen to good people. It's like – it's like I'm being punished or something. Haven't I been good enough, Tin-Tin? I know I've made mistakes, and sometimes I've hurt other people but hasn't everyone? What did I do that was so bad that I had to be almost killed to make up for it?"

"Alan, Alan listen to me." She rose up on her knees, grasping his wrists and forcing him to look at her. "Listen. It's okay to be angry. It's okay to feel that what's happened is unfair. And it's okay to be scared and upset."

"Try telling my dad – "

"No, just listen for a minute. _Please_. I know we've been telling you this for weeks but please, try and really _hear_ it this time. It's _okay_ to feel. Be angry, be furious, be scared – be whatever you want to be! But be _something,_ because this ghost-like Alan that's been drifting around for the last few months is scaring all of us." She let a faint smile creep onto her face. "Why do you think your family's been treating you like china? Because they're so scared that one day they'll say the wrong thing, or look at you the wrong way and you'll just fade away to nothing. And who will be left to pick up the pieces again, hmm? They _love_ you, Alan. Stop pushing them away and let them help you get over this." Her voice softened. "Let me help you."

Tin-Tin held her breath as Alan considered her words. He'd heard them before of course, many times and from many different members of his family. But something in his demeanour today – that tiny glimpse of the old Alan that she'd seen in the lounge – _something_ had told her it might be worth saying them again. Maybe it was just her foolish hope talking but it wasn't like she had anything to loose. Things couldn't get any worse than they were right now.

"You know … for a moment there I thought you were channelling Doctor Tomass."

Tin-Tin blinked. She had been expecting a cold dismissal. "Really?"

"Yeah. It was spooky." The corner of his mouth curved upwards. "You know you should listen to something when _two_ incredibly smart, beautiful women say it to you."

_He thinks I'm incredibly smart and beautiful? _Tin-Tin felt a giddy rush of pleasure spill over her like sunlight. It had been a long time since Alan had said anything like that.

"It's been hard, hasn't it? And I don't just mean for me … I mean for everyone."

Tin-Tin's thoughts faltered in the face of such an un-Alan-like statement.

"I've been so focused on my own problems that I haven't even considered how this has been affecting my family. Affecting you." He ran a hand through his blond hair, unruly from lack of attention in these past months and pushed it back out of his eyes. "I guess what I'm trying to say is … I'm sorry. And I'll try harder in the future. And I'll try – I'll try to let you help me. If I can."

One stubborn curl still hung over his face and it was the most natural thing in the world for Tin-Tin to reach across and tuck it behind his ear. He caught her hand and turned it over, linking his fingers through hers. Their faces were so close that Tin-Tin could feel Alan's warm breath on her cheek. He smelled faintly of those cheesy potato chips he liked so much; he must have taken a packet with him to New Zealand. The thought made her giggle and Alan pulled back slightly, frowning. "What?"

He looked so adorable, pouting like that. "Oh Alan, I've missed you." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

Alan looked so startled that for a few seconds, Tin-Tin thought she'd made a horrible mistake. Ruined the moment and pushed him too far, too quickly. But then his face cleared and he pulled her close, his lips covering hers with such strength that it was her turn to be surprised. Any kind of intimate contact between them had been muted and brief in the months since Alan's emotions had started spiralling out of control – she'd almost forgotten that kissing him could feel this good. It was intoxicating.

Tin-Tin's inhibitions slipped away and she responded in kind, pressing herself against Alan. Her hands slid up underneath his blue shirt to stroke the warm skin of his spine. He trailed kisses down her throat and she sighed with pleasure. _This_ was the Alan she was used to. The Alan she loved.

"Last time I looked, this wasn't supposed to be an X-rated beach."

Tin-Tin squeaked and pushed Alan off her. He fell back onto the sand with a whuff of surprise and she scrambled up onto her knees. "Oh God – are you alright, Alan?"

"Yeah," he managed, brushing sand off himself. He raised his head and looked back up the beach. "Thanks for that, Gordon."

His copper-haired brother gave them a lazy salute as he stepped out into the sunlight. "Just doing the public a favour. For decencies sake. You _do_ know the nudist beach is further along the coast …?" He arched his eyebrow in Tin-Tin's direction.

It was only then that she realised Alan's clever fingers had managed to unbutton a few too many of her shirt buttons, and the lacy red bra she'd put on specially this morning was clearly showing.

"Seems I was right about you dressing up for a _certain somebody _…" He leered at her as she buttoned up her shirt.

As much as Tin-Tin usually got on well with Alan's brothers, right then she could have cheerfully throttled Gordon for ruining the moment. In fact, she was surprised Alan hadn't beaten her to it, particularly with the mood he'd been in lately. It only took small things to tip him over the edge – and with Gordon, nothing was ever small. The anger should have surfaced by now.

She risked a glance across at Alan. He was leaning back on his elbows, squinting up at his brother, and the expression on his face was … irritated certainly, but there were also traces of long-suffering humour brought about by Gordon's words. It was enough to make Tin-Tin want to throw her arms around him again. It hadn't just been a figment of her hopeful imagination; Alan _was_ slowly making his way back to them.

"Gordon, did you want something specific, or did you just come down here to be annoying?"

"As much fun as destroying your romantic chances is, I'm under orders from the old man. Dinner's being served and your presence is required."

Alan pulled a face and Tin-Tin wondered how long it would be before Jeff Tracy stopped babying his son. "Did you point out to Dad that I've been able to feed myself for over ten years now?"

Gordon shrugged. "He barked – I jumped. You know how it goes. Now are you coming? Some of us like relying on other people feeding us."

"Gimme a moment."

Alan pulled himself up onto his knees and fumbled for the crutch. He struggled to stand and Tin-Tin bit her lip, fingers itching to help. A glance at Gordon's face told her he felt the same, but they both hesitated.

Alan finally got himself upright and just as he was about to start moving up the beach, the crutch slipped out from under his arm and fell back down onto the sand. He cursed and started to bend down, but his body betrayed him and he swayed, breathing heavily. Finally, he raised his head and looked across at them.

"A little help?"

Holding back the beam of triumph she wanted to unleash, Tin-Tin scooped the crutch up and handed it back to him. He met her gaze from underneath a forest of blond curls and his lips curved into the smallest hint of a smile.

"Thanks."


	3. Chapter Three: Facing Facts

**A/N: **As always, thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. This is the chapter where the plot starts to get going, so I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Facing Facts<strong>

Jeff Tracy ran a hand through his hair. He studied his reflection in the glass of the window, barely seeing the tropical paradise beyond. He looked … old, that was the first word that sprung to mind. Old and tired. It had just been one thing after another recently. Trouble with Alan; trouble with the Hood; more trouble with Alan; Alan's coma and everything that had stemmed from it … He would no longer call it an 'accident'. The proof was right behind him, sitting silently on the table. A mute testimony to the fact that someone had almost killed his son.

"And you're sure?" he asked at length.

"Yeah. Hard to mistake something like that. It was the same make, same M.O, same everything."

"T-t-the fire was no a-a-ac-aci _mistake_, Mr Tracy. Someone tried to bl-blo-blow, tried to make that factory e-explode."

Jeff continued staring at the old man in the glass. Where had all that grey in his hair come from? It couldn't have all been caused by Alan's accident. It must have been building … building for years. No wonder really, he _was_ the CEO of a multimillion dollar company, the head of International Rescue and father of five sons. A few grey hairs was par for the course … wasn't it?

"Dad?"

He suppressed a sigh and turned back to face the room. It was Scott who had spoken of course. His oldest was sitting awkwardly on a chair near the door, the position of his leg suggesting that it was paining him. Not that Scott would ever say anything, of course. He was like Jeff in that respect.

Like Alan too, now that Jeff thought about it.

Gordon was lounging on one of the low sofas opposite the window, his head titled so far backwards that he was staring up at the ceiling. On the surface he seemed perfectly relaxed, but there was a subtle tension in his body that only a father could recognise. It probably had something to do with his ongoing problems with Scott – yet another thing that Jeff had noticed but simply hadn't had the time to confront. His sons argued from time to time, he told himself. It was perfectly normal. Gordon and Scott were old enough to sort things out themselves.

Virgil was sitting besides his younger brother and as Jeff watched, he leaned forward and picked up the remains of the bomb that he had found in Shanghai. As he turned it over in his fingers, Jeff fought the irrational urge to snatch it out of his son's hands.

Brains stood behind the sofa, looking as uncomfortable as ever. Even here, in the presence of friends and family, the engineer seemed unsettled. He probably wanted to get back to his lab, Jeff thought. It had only been a couple of hours since Brains and Fermat had returned from Thunderbird 5 and the engineer would naturally be eager to get back to the projects that he'd been so abruptly pulled away from.

"Where's Alan?" Jeff asked finally.

It was Gordon's turn to answer. "He's out by the pool – with Tin-Tin and Fermat. Why?"

"I don't want him here for this."

Gordon frowned and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Scott cut him off. "For what?"

Jeff came around the front of his desk and leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest. He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. "There is somebody, out there in the world, planting bombs. A global arsonist, if you like. He – or she – was responsible for the collapse of the mine in Wales and the death of those miners. He was also behind the school explosion in France, the office fire in LA and the latest attack in Shanghai. Four different locations, covering three different continents. Four completely different targets." He paused and looked around the room, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "This ends _now_. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care how hard we have to work. I'm drawing a line in the sand. There aren't going to be any more bombs. _No one else is going to suffer_. We're going to track this man down and he's going to spend the rest of his life behind bars, understand?"

The room was silent. Scott met his gaze and nodded sharply. Brains' face was drawn. Virgil's eyes spoke volumes and even Gordon's normally merry face was serious. The unspoken undercurrent was so strong that even though he hadn't said anything specifically, Jeff knew they were all thinking about Alan.

"Right, what do we know?"

"I-if I may …?" Brains stepped out from behind the sofa. "I've had a, um, a chance to compare the b-bombs from the office in LA and the one from S-Sha-Shan – the most r-recent r-rescue. In c-composition they're identical – both HMTD. And b-both hand-made." The engineer pushed his glasses up his nose. "I've only n-noticed one d-difference. There's a m-mark on the l-la-lat-lat _most recent _bomb. But I don't know wh-what it is."

"I think I do." Virgil looked up from where he had been cradling the bomb in his lap. "It's a bit of a long shot, and the mark's partially obscured, but I think it's the brand of the heating tablet. I think it's Anderson Bradley."

"I haven't heard of them," Scott remarked, frowning.

"I don't know much about them myself, except I think they're based in Britain."

"They're British?"

Virgil nodded.

Jeff stared at the bomb, thinking. Scott reached across and took it from Virgil, searching for the mark himself. "There, see? That black oval with the line bisecting it?"

Scott raised his eyebrows. "It looks like a smudge to me, but I'll take your word for it."

"It's Anderson Bradley," Virgil insisted.

"I don't even want to know how you know that," Gordon murmured half-heartedly, earning him a hard look from Scott.

"Alright," Jeff intervened. "Virgil, I want you to dig up everything you can about this Anderson Bradley. I want to know where they sell their products and I want to know about anyone who's placed an order in the last few months."

Virgil bit his lip. "Dad, Anderson Bradley are a big company. They've probably got hundreds of outlets across the UK. That could be thousands of customers."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Virgil relented and shook his head. "I'll get onto it as soon as I can."

"Good. Get Fermat and Gordon to help you if it takes too long. Now, what else?"

Scott and Virgil exchanged glances and it was Scott who took up the thread of conversation. "Well I've been thinking … this is the fourth attack that we're aware of, right? But what if there were others? Ones we didn't encounter, or didn't identify?"

"You know, there was something about that rescue in Australia that struck me as odd," Virgil said slowly. "But there had been so many grassfires in that area already that I guess I just assumed … damn, that was _months_ before the Welsh mine. What if it was the bomber?"

Jeff knew what he was thinking: what if we had realised before the mine – what if we had stopped Alan from going through hell – but he also knew that regrets were pointless. They wouldn't bring back the months that Alan had lost and they weren't going to help with the investigation either.

"There's a time and a place for recriminations and this isn't it," Jeff said shortly, trying not to feel like a hypocrite when he remembered how much guilt he himself had been feeling over the last several months. "But it's a good point, Scott. Okay, Gordon, as well as helping Virgil with the Anderson Bradley investigation, I want you to go through all of our rescues over the last year and pull out those that have any kind of a connection to fire. I want to know when this pattern started." Gordon didn't look overjoyed by this assignment, but he wisely didn't make any comments. "Anything else?"

"The thing I don't get," Scott said suddenly, "are the location of these attacks. I mean, America, Europe, Asia? Have you ever heard of a global arsonist before? Even if it was someone with an agenda, whose going to have a grudge against both a French primary school and an American carpet factory? It just doesn't make any sense."

"John ran a background check on the companies involved before he left and there was nothing," Virgil reminded them quietly. "No disgruntled employees, or threats. Not even any common ground."

"Just a weird guy," Scott murmured. "Making notes."

"Do you really think he's the bomber?" Jeff wanted to know.

Scott shrugged. "He was just an ordinary guy making notes. There was nothing remarkable about him."

"That doesn't mean he didn't plant the bomb," Gordon pointed out. "Just because he didn't have a neon sign flashing over his head saying, "Hey, I like to blow things up" doesn't mean that he's not responsible."

"You think I don't know that?" Scott demanded incredulously. "I'm not an idiot. I'm just saying what I saw."

"Which has been _oh_ _so_ useful so far." The sarcasm in Gordon's tone was low and vicious. Scott pushed himself out of his chair and Jeff was forced to step between his sons.

"That's enough," he snapped, gripping Scott's shoulder and forcing him back down. "I don't care what's got into you both recently, but I won't have you arguing like a pair of children. Things are hard enough round here without you two carrying on this ridiculous vendetta. You're adults, so start damn well acting like it. If you've got a problem, sort it out." He looked hard at both of them. Gordon was staring fixedly down at his hands, his cheeks flushed. Scott stared back, but even he had the grace to look away after a moment. "I don't want to have to have this conversation again."

"Sorry," Gordon muttered. Scott nodded and Jeff moved back across to his desk, pulling the chair out and sinking into it. So much for sorting things out themselves. Sometimes it seemed like his sons were permanently stuck in that unattractive adolescent phase and he would be forever required to play referee when they decided to throw their toys out of the toy box.

"Scott, what was it about this man that caught your eye?" he asked, as patiently as he could manage. "There must have been something that made you notice him."

"Coincidence maybe? Gut instinct? I don't know, Dad – I just _did_."

"Was he there today?"

"I don't know. I don't remember seeing him but – he could have been there. I was stuck manning Mobile Control all day so I didn't exactly get time for sightseeing."

"Can you describe him?" Virgil wanted to know.

"He was just some guy!" Scott exclaimed, obviously exasperated. "Medium height, medium build – medium everything. No distinguishing features; not that I noticed anyway in the two seconds that I saw him. Just a guy, possibly with dark hair and maybe with glasses. Hell, it could have been Brains for all we know."

The engineer blanched. "Scott," Jeff began warningly.

"Yeah okay … sorry Brains, I didn't mean that." His eldest ran one hand through his hair and sighed. "I just wish I'd seen him more clearly."

Silence, and a dead end. Jeff suppressed his own sigh with difficulty. They were all looking to him for answers and, just like Scott, he didn't have any to give. How could they even start to think about catching this guy when they didn't even know what he looked like?

"So … what are we going to do then?"

It was Gordon who finally broke and voiced what they were all thinking, which was typical really. Of all Jeff's sons, Gordon was the one most likely to confront a difficult situation head on – usually with an alarming lack of tact.

"I have an idea," Virgil spoke up reluctantly, "but I don't think any of you guys are going to like it."

"Why don't you let us by the judge of that?"

Virgil nodded at his father's words. "Alright. Well, it's pretty simple, to be honest. We all take cameras on the next mission and if we can, we get a proper picture of Scott's mystery guy."

Gordon raised his eyebrows. "Is that all?"

"What do you mean 'is that all'?" Scott interrupted. "You're right Virg – I don't like it. We have to sit around a wait for this guy to bomb somewhere else, just so we can get him on film?"

Virgil shrugged, apparently not offended by his brother's sharp tone. "I told you it sucked."

Jeff held up his hands. "As an idea, it's got potential. No, Scott – just listen for a moment. I don't like it any more than you do, but Virgil's hit on a workable solution to our main problem and as we've currently got so little to work with, we have to consider his idea. It comes down to this: if we want to identify this man, then we need his picture. Virgil's suggestion, as regrettable as it is, might give us that."

"But we don't even know if my guy's the bomber!" Scott protested.

"No, we don't. So we need to find out, even if it's just to eliminate him." When it looked like Scott would complain again, Jeff added, "And we'll do our best to make sure that no one else gets hurt in the process. Now unless you have any better ideas…?"

" … I don't," Scott admitted grudgingly.

"Right then." Jeff turned to his engineer. "Brains, can you rig up a couple of heavy duty cameras that the boys can take out on rescues?"

"S-Sure. It m-might take so-some time though –"

"Just do it as fast as you can. We've got no way of knowing when the next bombing will be."

"Y-Yes, Mr Tracy."

"Scott, I want you to try and remember everything you can about this man – even things you think are completely insignificant. Work with the British connection, see if that and a knowledge of bombs brings up anything. Oh and get John to help you – he has access to much better facial recognition software than we do."

Scott still didn't look pleased, but he didn't interrupt either and Virgil spoke up instead, "Dad, what about Lady P …?"

"Good idea – I'll give her a call. Once we do have a visual of this guy then she may be able to help identify him. Or she may know somebody in MI5 that can."

Silence fell again, but this time some of the expressions had eased and some of the weight had gone. It wasn't much, and it certainly wasn't ideal, but at least they were doing _something_ to try and catch this guy. Now they just needed Brains' genius, a lot of luck and the persuasive charms of an elegant British lady and they might finally be able to bring an end to the bomber's explosive rampage.

Scott broke the silence this time, rising to his feet, a flash of pain ghosting across his face as he adjusted his stance. "Is that everything then …?"

Jeff looked at the others. Virgil was already standing; he'd picked up the remains of the bomb again and was turning it over in his fingers. Brains was scribbling something in one of his ever-present notebooks. Only Gordon was still watching Jeff and as his father's eyes met his, he sat forward.

"Dad … what about Alan?"

Brains stopped writing and Virgil's hands stilled. It might have been Gordon who had asked, but it seemed that everyone wanted to hear the answer to his question.

"Alan doesn't need to know about this," Jeff said flatly.

"But Dad, he's not stupid. He'll know something's going on. I don't think – it's not right, keeping him in the dark." There was something in Gordon's tone, an edge that Jeff wasn't used to. He seemed almost … angry?

Jeff blew out a sharp breath. "Alright. I want him kept out of this as much as possible, but if you absolutely _have _to involve him then leave out any reference to the Welsh fire, understand? As far as Alan's concerned, this all started in France and it's got nothing to do with him. The last thing we need is him knowing that this man almost killed him."

"So you want us to lie to him?" Gordon demanded, eyes flashing.

"Gordon," Scott said warningly. "That's enough."

"He wants us to lie to Alan – lie to his _face_ – and you're okay with that?"

"If it's the right thing to do, then yes."

Gordon laughed bitterly. "Of course you'd say that –"

"I want to protect him."

The words were out before Jeff had really had time to think about them. They were more – honest, than he would normally choose to be, even around his sons. Life had taught him a long time ago that honesty made you vulnerable. But maybe, just maybe there were some circumstances where honesty was what was needed.

So, "I wanted to protect him," Jeff repeated slowly. "Because Alan does not need this on top of everything else. He's been through enough."

And that was the final word on the subject.

* * *

><p>Gordon Tracy didn't exactly storm out of the room, but he certainly didn't wait to be dismissed. What his dad was insisting; what his brothers had so quickly agreed to – it was just plain <em>wrong<em>. Didn't they know _anything_ about Alan? Didn't they understand that one of the things he hated more than anything else was to be kept in the dark? When he found out the truth – and he would find out eventually, Gordon was certain of that – he was going to be furious. And maybe even more than furious … Alan's mood had been so unpredictable lately that in some ways, Gordon found himself agreeing with their Dad: he didn't need this on top of everything else. But the problem was, the fallout when Alan _did_ find out was going to be even worse.

Gordon strode down the corridor. He had half a mind to go and find Alan now and tell him everything, his dad be damned. Alan _deserved _to know – why didn't anyone else understand that? Wrapping him in cotton wool wasn't the answer – it had never been the answer. And yet it kept happening, time after time, after time. It was as if, not matter how old Alan got, his dad and his brothers would insist on treating him as a child. Making decisions that were _for his own good_. Gordon hated that; the self-righteous belief that adults had that caused them to belief they knew best. They didn't know best. _He _knew Alan better than anyone – better even than Tin-Tin – but had anyone asked his opinion?

Of course not. He was the second youngest, barely above a child himself. And _they _knew better.

The sound of laughter reached his ears, pulling Gordon up short. His steps had led him into the lounge and through the glass windows he could see three figures outside on the patio. One was waving his arms animatedly; as Gordon watched, he lost his balance and almost fell headfirst into the pool. Peals of laughter rang out from the girl, drifting through the open doors. She reached across and entwined her fingers through the second boy's, pulling his hand into her lap as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

All the fury drained out of Gordon then. He sagged back against the couch. Outside, Fermat had regained his balance and was cleaning his glasses furiously, cheeks bright red. Tin-Tin was still laughing, her fingers playing lightly across the back of the hand she had claimed.

And Alan?

For the first time in a long time, he looked … he looked like Alan again. He was smiling crookedly and his skin had lost some of the pallor that his long recovery had caused. Tin-Tin tugged playfully on his hand and he tugged back, pulling the girl across to him and slipping his arm around her waist. She tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear and rested her head on his shoulder.

And there it was: the reason why his dad had made that decision. The reason why his brothers had agreed so readily. And the reason why the words dried up in Gordon's mouth. That look on Alan's face; the first glimpse that maybe, just maybe everything was going to be okay. That he was healing at last, returning to the man he'd been instead of the shadow they'd all grown accustomed to over the last several months.

And who wanted to take that away from him?

"Not me," Gordon murmured, drawing himself upright. It might have been the right thing to do; it might have staved off the explosion that was sure to occur when Alan did find out, but … but he just couldn't do it. Those agonising months when they hadn't known if Alan was ever going to wake up, followed by the equally fraught months when his little brother had spiralled down into depression, had been some of the most terrifying of Gordon's life. To see Alan like that – brought so low by life and circumstance – it had been almost more than he could bear. To send Alan back down that path by telling him the truth; to even steer him slightly in that direction – no he couldn't be responsible for that. He'd never forgive himself.

Reluctantly, hating the fact that that despite everything, he'd ended up coming to the same conclusion as his father, Gordon turned around and slipped back into the shadows of the villa.


	4. Chapter Four: Killing Time

**Chapter Four: Killing Time**

Virgil Tracy wandered into Brains' lab, yawning. It had been a week since the fire in LA - seven whole days since his dad had sent them off on their own private missions, and what did they have to show for it? Well in Virgil's case, disappointingly little and frustration had driven him down to the lab where he might at least be of some help.

Brains looked up and smiled distractedly as the younger man joined him at his workbench. On the surface, the task that Jeff Tracy had set his engineer was simple: to produce cameras that they could use on a mission and which would guarantee a good picture of the bomber. The problem was that traditional lightweight cameras simply weren't able to cope with the wear and tear that International Rescue so often experienced. And beyond that, Brains had no way of knowing what kind of elements his cameras would be exposed to. Intense heat was a pretty good guess, but then what if water from a fire-fighters hose happened to hit the camera? The last thing they needed was to find the bomber only to have the cameras malfunction.

By trying to prepare for every eventuality, Brains had been forced to work flat-out on the cameras, snatching breaks when he got the chance. Jeff Tracy hadn't asked it of the unassuming man, but his frequent trips down to the lab, along with Scott and even Gordon, made it obvious that everyone was expecting a fast response. Virgil could understand their frustration; while Brains were forced to work steadily and methodically, the bomber could strike at any time. The worse possible scenario would be an attack before the cameras were finished.

"Morning, Brains."

The engineer pushed his glasses up his nose. "G-g-good m-morning, Virgil." He reached down and tinkered with the prototype, cleaving two wires together and squinting at the results on his computer.

Virgil followed his gaze. "Hey, looking good."

"Y-Yes, I b-b-believe I almost h-have a working p-pr-prot _model_."

"Great. We could really use some good news." Virgil sank into a nearby chair and ran his hands over his face. He felt exhausted.

"What about th-the tablets?"

"Still drawing a blank. They're unique to the UK alright, but that doesn't stop them being sold in just about every camping store in the country. Tracking down one exact sale is just – it's pretty much impossible."

"I f-feared as much."

"If we knew if they'd placed a bulk order, or several different ones then that might make it easier …" Virgil sighed. "To be honest, I'm running out of ideas here. And if these cameras don't work –"

"They w-will work," Brains said quickly. "They will d-def-def _certainly _work." Then his face fell a little. "I j-just hope I've th-thought of every ev-entuality."

"You know what the twisted thing is? Part of me's hoping we never even get a chance to use these." Virgil waved his hand at the prototype. "I mean, we have to wait for him to blow up somewhere else. It's just – it's not right."

"Y-you were hoping Mr T-Tr-Tr _your f-father_ would r-reject the idea, weren't y-you?" the engineer queried with surprising insight.

Virgil smiled wirily. "Yeah, I kinda was. Almost wish I hadn't said anything now. Still, what's done is done, I suppose." He cast his eyes around the lab and then slid his chair over to the central worktable, which held the remains of both of the bombs that they'd recovered from the French and LA fires. "Any luck identifying the other bomb components?"

Brains joined him, perching on a stool. "B-beyond what we already know, not r-really. Hydrogen peroxide –"

"Which is basically bleach. Which you can get from anywhere."

Brains nodded. "It's the same w-with the cit-citric acid."

"And the heating tablets," Virgil concluded glumly. "Man, I just feel like we're chasing our tails here."

"There is – there is one thing that I've d-dis-disc _realised_ though," Brains said, picking up the LA bomb and pulling a part of it loose. "On the out-outside, these b-bombs are very simple. The most b-basic com-comp _ingredients_ and d-design. But if you look in-inside …" The engineer handed the bomb fragment to Virgil, whose expression cleared as he realised what Brains was indicating.

"Is that …?"

"S-sophisticated wiring," Brains agreed. "Far be-beyond the basic make-up of the b-bomb." He chewed on his lower lip, face falling. "I would ha-have noticed it be-before, but the p-parts of the bombs that you re-rec-reco _brought back _were so bad-badly damaged – and the w-wiring itself is only in the ce-central core –"

"It's okay, Brains. Hey, I didn't notice it either, did I?" Virgil squinted at the wiring. "This looks like some pretty heavy duty stuff, so … what? We're dealing with someone who's making it look like they used a build-your-own-bomb kit, when actually – actually they're some kind of expert?" He looked up at his colleague. "Why would anyone do that?"

Brains shook his head wordlessly.

* * *

><p>As Brains and Virgil continued to dissect the bomb fragments down in the lab, Gordon Tracy stepped out of his room, a rucksack slung over his shoulder. Walking passed Scott's closed door, he couldn't stop his eyes from narrowing slightly. Despite their father's stern words a week before, he and Scott hadn't had one civil conversation since. Well, to be more accurate, they hadn't had <em>any<em> conversations since – not one-on-one anyway. In fact, Gordon was strongly under the impression that Scott had been avoiding him – which suited him just fine.

Two doors down from Scott's room was Alan's; Gordon banged on the outside. "Yo, Al? You ready?"

"Gimme a sec!"

Gordon shifted the rucksack onto his left shoulder. He banged on the door again. "Come on. You were the one who suggested this remember?"

It had come as a Godsend actually, Alan's out of the blue request to go hiking. With Virgil's search for the origin of the heating tablets floundering, and the cameras still being constructed, Gordon had been relegated to "Alan duty" recently, which basically entailed keeping his little brother company and making sure that Alan stayed as far away from Brains' lab as possible.

It had taken a direct order from their father to get Gordon to go along with it – and a lucky break in the form of Alan's request. Gordon wasn't sure if their dad knew about it – after all, Alan was still having to use one crutch to get around, so hiking wasn't exactly the smartest thing he could be doing – but honestly, he didn't really care. His brother hadn't asked for much in the wake of his accident, and if Gordon could help him to get out of the house for a bit then he was going to, his dad's orders not withstanding.

"Alan? C'mon man!"

The door sprung open to reveal a rather flushed-looking Tin-Tin. Gordon looked from her to Alan, who was hurriedly packing his bag, and a grin rippled across his face. "Oh, _now_ I see why you're late."

"Shut up, Gordon."

Tin-Tin slipped past, looking extremely embarrassed. Gordon waved as she disappeared down the corridor and Alan struggled the pull the drawstrings at the neck of his bag tight.

"Twice in a week? Damn Al – are you guys waiting until you know I'm coming or something?"

Alan ignored him, choosing to punch the offending bag instead. "Are you going to give me hand with this or do you enjoy watching me struggle?"

"Struggle? No. Squirm? Yes." Gordon crossed the room and took the bag from Alan, securing the ties quickly. "But honestly, Al, you're just giving me too much material to choose from."

"We weren't – whatever you think we were doing we weren't –"

Gordon held up his hands. "Hey, what you get up to in your time is your business. I'm just looking forward to seeing the fireworks when Dad finds out."

Alan limped across to his desk and picked up his crutch, tucking it under his arm. "There won't be any fireworks, because nothing's happened."

"Maybe not yet," Gordon said wickedly, shouldering Alan's bag. "But who knows _what_ the future holds …"

Alan shoved him in the back, making him laugh and the two of them headed for the door.

* * *

><p>Scott logged onto his computer and sat impatiently, twisting in his chair as he waited for the pretty welcome screen to disappear. Outside the sun was approaching the zenith, which made it just before midnight in England, he reckoned. Which meant there was a chance …<p>

The cheery welcome message dissolved and Scott swept the mouse across on his desktop, selecting a pale green icon and quickly entering his username and password. The egg timer trickled away and then the screen blossomed into a sea of colour. He ran his eager eyes down the list of names on the right-hand side and was about to click on one when a flashing message popped up on his screen, demanding his attention. He hit okay and the message box expanded to fill his screen completely, revealing the smiling face of a young woman. She was pretty, with a mass of dark curly hair, wide dark eyes and a slightly upturned nose that was liberally sprinkled with freckles. Pale skin that Scott loved but she hated – she complained about burning every time she stepped into the sun.

"_Hey stranger_."

Scott smiled, freeing his microphone from behind one of the computer's speakers and putting it on the desk in front of him.

"Hey yourself. You're up late."

The woman pulled a face. "_Work. I've got a nasty presentation tomorrow. Bunch of third years. I can't just pretend I know what I'm talking about with them_. _I have to actually do some research beforehand."_

"Interesting topic?"

"_I wish._" The woman held up a piece of paper to the camera and adopted a mocking tone. "_'The existence of mesons on the basis of theoretical work on nuclear forces'_ ".

Scott laughed. "Sounds … interesting."

"_Sounds boring_!" The woman countered, pushing a strand of dark hair back behind her ear. "_And is. Boring I mean_."

"I thought you liked that kind of stuff."

"_Not when I've spent the last six hours researching good old Hideki Yukawa_."

The name meant nothing to Scott but by the emphasis she'd put on it, he guessed old Hideki was some important physicist or something. Virgil would probably have known.

"Left things to the last minute, huh?"

"_In the great tradition of academics everywhere – yes_." The woman reached for something off screen, and pulled back a moment later, revealing a cup in her hand. "_Which is why I've sold my soul to the god of tea_."

Scott shook his head, amused. "I'll never understand your obsession with that stuff."

"_Yeah, well, you're American. You got the burger-obsession instead._" She smiled, revealing a dimple in her left cheek. "_Oh hey, I meant to ask – how's Alan doing?_"

Her abrupt change of the subject didn't bother Scott; he was used to it by now. "Better. He's almost off the crutches now."

"_And what about … you know, emotionally_?"

Scott sat back in his chair and considered the question. He had to be careful; as far as Kate Oliver was aware, Alan had taken a fall while rock climbing, leaving him with the skull fracture that had so irrevocably changed his life. Scott had been dancing around half-truths with her for months, ever since he'd had to call and cancel one of their meetings, which had been scheduled a few days after Alan's accident. Having to be so guarded all the time was what life in International Rescue required, and it had become as natural to Scott as breathing ... but Kate was different. Lying to her, well it was just more difficult somehow. More complicated. And as time went on, the urge to just tell her everything was growing more and more compelling.

"_Hey Scott? You still with me_?"

But maybe he didn't have to lie about everything.

He leaned forward to the microphone again. "Yeah sorry, just thinking. I don't know how he is, to be honest. Alan's never been one to talk about his emotions."

"_Typical guy then_," she remarked slyly.

Scott smiled. "Yeah. He seems to be doing okay though. And at least he's talking to _somebody_ now. Better than bottling everything up, I guess." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "I just don't get how talking about your feelings can magically make everything better."

"_If it's helping Alan, does it really matter or not if you disagree_?"

Scott's fingers paused. It was typical of Kate, to challenge him like that. She was never afraid to say what she thought, no matter how rude, or blunt or strange it sounded. It was one of things that had first attracted him to her.

"So what you're saying is that Scott Tracy isn't always right?

"_I figure if I say it enough times then maybe you'll finally start to believe me_."

"Don't hold your breath.

"_I never do. And speaking of never doing things, are you heading into my hemisphere anytime soon? I'm starting to forget what you look like_."

"You're looking at me right now," Scott couldn't help pointing out.

Kate arched her eyebrows. "_It's not just about _looking_ though, is it_?"

There was a sudden knock on Scott's door and a second later, the handle was being turned and the door slid open. Scott hit the power button on his monitor, turned his speakers down and spun around as Virgil stuck his head into the room.

"Hey Scott, thought you'd be interested to know that –"

"Are the cameras finished yet?" Scott interrupted, more strongly than he had intended.

Virgil gave him a strange look. "No … but Brains and I found some wiring in the bombs which suggests whoever's behind this knows more than we thought about building them. I'm just on my way back from telling Dad, but I thought you'd like to know too."

"Sure. Great. Thanks Virge. Look, was there anything else?"

The strange look deepened. "You don't seem very … interested."

"I'm just in the middle of something, okay? Besides, it's not like I can do anything to help until the cameras are ready. I've already told John everything I know – he's got the global searches covered."

Virgil glanced over Scott's shoulder, taking in the darkened computer screen. "I guess not," he said finally. "I'll let you know when the cameras are ready. Brains thinks it'll be today or tomorrow."

As soon as the door closed behind his brother, Scott spun back around and switched the monitor on again. Kate's room flooded back onto the screen; she was sitting back in her chair, her legs crossed, nursing the mug of tea.

"Kate?" He leaned forward and adjusted the speaker volume.

"_He speaks!_" She waved the tea in Scott's direction.

"Yeah sorry about that – one of my brothers came in and I had to bail."

"_Still haven't told them about us?"_ Despite the question, she didn't seem that concerned.

"Trust me, there's a time and a place. And with everyone so worried about Alan …"

"_Alright, alright. I'll let you off on one condition …_" Kate tapped a finger against her chin and then grinned wickedly. "_You head up north within the next couple of days_."

Scott relaxed back into his chair. "I think I can manage that …"

* * *

><p>Walking with Gordon was always fun, Alan thought. In fact, doing pretty much anything with Gordon was fun; his brother had a way of always entertaining his audience, no matter how mundane the setting. And sure, the constant cracks about him and Tin-Tin and what might and might not have happened were kind of irritating, but it was worth it just to spend some time away from the house, in the company of someone who just let him <em>be<em> and didn't ask a load of prying questions about his health.

As they moved down one of the gentler paths (Gordon leading and keeping an eye out for any obstructions that might cause his brother to fall) Alan let himself relax and enjoy the fact that he was outside, and away from parental and brotherly influences for the first time in months. In fact, aside from the handful of times that he and Tin-Tin had managed to escape to the beach, Alan could count on the fingers of one hand the opportunities he'd had to go off on his own since waking from the coma.

It was pretty obvious why: learning to walk again wasn't exactly an activity that went hand in hand with trekking through a jungle. But his strength had returned, the weakness in his leg was finally fading and though he still walked with the aid of a crutch, it was simply because he refused to use a cane (thanks to some unflattering "old man" comments Gordon had thrown his way). Besides, he'd quickly discovered that a crutch made a very effective plant-battering weapon, as well as giving him something to poke Gordon with when his brother asked him one too many questions about his girlfriend.

"Do you think anyone's worked out where we've gone yet?"

Alan looked up to see Gordon standing on a low rock, surveying the surrounding jungle like some kind of sixteenth century conqueror. _He just needs a jaunty hat and a sword_, he thought, stifling a laugh.

"To be honest, I don't really care," he answered, drawing level with his brother and sitting down on a neighbouring rock. He was breathing hard and his leg was aching but it was _so_ worth it. The jungle spilled away from them towards the sea and even someone who had lived on a tropical island for most of his life couldn't fail to be impressed. With the morning sun shining brightly overhead, it would be easy to think that they'd stumbled into paradise.

"You _don't care_? The voice of rebellion has returned at last!" Gordon spun around and held out his hand. "Put it there!"

Alan smiled tolerantly. "I don't know if I'd go that far yet."

"Seriously though Al, it's good to see you looking better. Defying Dad and returning to old form and all that."

There was an edge to his brother's tone that Alan couldn't quite identify. Gordon had always been one for merrily breaking the roles when there were pranks to be pulled, but even he hadn't gone down the all-out challenging route that Alan himself was taking. In fact, he'd joined their brothers in trying to persuade Alan to tone the arguments down and let things slide every once in a while. It looked like Alan hadn't been the only one who had been changed by his accident.

He decided to prod a little deeper. "Yeah well, I guess Dad was right after all. About the counsellor."

Gordon pulled a face. "Yeah, yeah don't give him too much credit. You'll make him think he's right about everything."

Oh yeah, there was definitely something weird going on there. Maybe it was related to the problem Gordon had with Scott – Scott had a tendency to pull the surrogate dad act whenever he could, which had always gotten up both Alan and Gordon's noses. After all, one dad was bad enough.

"Wonder how much of a hard time he's gonna give me about coming back to work," Alan said at last, staring out across the jungle.

Beside him, Gordon stilled. "You mean …"

"To IR, yeah." Alan gave him a strange look. "You didn't think I was just going to sit around all day, did you?"

"I thought … I dunno what I thought." Gordon shook his head. "Isn't it a bit soon?"

Alan shrugged and opted for honesty. "Doctor Tomass said I should go back to work if I wanted to. She said it would give me something to focus on – a reason to get better."

"Yeah, but it's not like she knows you're a member of International Rescue, is it? I bet she'd have different advice if she did."

The reluctance in Gordon was difficult to miss. What Alan didn't understand was why – why wouldn't his brother want him to rejoin the family business? After so many years spent looking forward to being a Thunderbird, did everyone just expect him to give up because of one accident? He was trying to get back to normal – surely his family, kings of sweeping unpleasant occurrences under the carpet and soldiering on, would appreciate that?

"Good luck with bringing that one up with Dad," Gordon said abruptly, jumping down from the rock and adjusting the position of his bag. "Now come on, we've got a long way to go."

Alan stared after him uncertainly for a moment, wondering what he'd just missed, and then picked up his crutch and slowly followed his brother down the path.

* * *

><p>Jeff Tracy sat at his desk, studying the piece of paper in front of him. While his sons and Brains had been working on practical tasks, he'd been devoting his time to bringing Penny up to date on the situation and trying to work out if the bomber had given them any clues about his future targets from his actions so far.<p>

The creased and blotched paper was the culmination of all of those thoughts. It was covered with his own familiar handwriting, blocky letters and dark ink, lines drawing the eye from one point to another. In the centre, a circle with a single word dominated the sheet of A4, lines spiralling out from it like it was some kind of demented octopus. A single word, but really, when you thought about, the heart of the problem. The answer to the question about who had killed the miners in Wales; who had threatened the French school children; who had cracked his son's skull open and put him in a coma.

And the word that he just couldn't pin down.

Motive.

Or more accurately: Motive? After all, Scott was right. A global arsonist was an almost ludicrous idea. Unheard of in the past or even in modern times, thanks to the spiralling cost of global travel. Besides, arsonists tended to follow a set pattern; they liked to strike at targets that meant something to them. In a case with no connections between the targets, did that mean that the motive had to be something else?

It was a point that Jeff kept coming back to. What was the common element between all of the bomb-related rescues that they were aware of? What was the one, single coinciding factor between a mine in Wales, a factory in Shanghai and an office in LA?

His eyes followed one particular line down the page, branching away from the central circular question and snaking into the left hand corner. It was a thick line, black against the page and deep, as if it someone had traced over it again and again.

The words at the end were difficult to make out amongst the rest of the chaos, but Jeff had read them so many times that he barely need to look.

What was the common element between the rescues?

The answer was obvious really, when you stopped to think about it.

You, the paper proclaimed.

International Rescue.


	5. Chapter Five: Back to Business

**A/N: **So I admit, I've done a bit of a u-turn on this story. As those who read the original (and now deleted) A/N on the previous chapter know, I was planning on putting this story on indefinite hiatus for a number of boring reasons I won't go into here. Instead, I've now decided to post all of the chapters I've written so far, which is 16. I can't promise this story will ever be finished, but a couple of thoughtful reviewers reminded me why I was writing and who for, so posting what I have is my way of saying thank you :) As always, please let me know your thoughts.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: Back to Business<strong>

When Alan woke that morning, he felt, for the first time in a long time, that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to turn out okay.

Life wasn't perfect by any means; there were still going to be irritations, like when Scott had bawled him and Gordon out over their little jaunt into the jungle. And there was still going to be days when he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and embrace the darkness.

But something subtle had changed. Whether the result of finally committing to Doctor Tomass' sessions, or Tin-Tin's gentle support, but somewhere over the last few weeks, that big, black ball of nothingness inside of him had lessened it's grip. It was still there, hiding just out of sight, but he no longer felt like it was in control of his life.

And as the chokehold of depression loosened, Alan found that he was finally able to start accepting everything that had happened. That there had been a horrific accident. That he'd almost died. That there were parts of his life that he was never going to be able to recall. It still hurt – it probably always would do. And the eternal question of "why" was also going to linger. But in truth, Alan could let it go because he knew there was no sense to be had in the whole mess, even if he did go looking. After all, the definition of an accident was an "unexpected and undesired event". An "unforeseen incident". If you can't see something coming, there's no way you can stop it. And history – hell, just life in general – proved time and again that having an accident had nothing to do with how good a person you were, or what you'd accomplished. It was a random act of chance. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Being unlucky. As Doctor Tomass had so often said, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. It just was, and when he could accept that, then he would be able to move one.

Lying in his warm bed and watching the sunlight play across the ceiling, Alan thought that maybe he'd finally taken the doctor's advice.

His alarm shrilled through the room suddenly, shattering Alan's reverie and making him jump. "8:30" the red numbers informed him sternly. Earlier than he normally rose, but his words to Gordon on the hiking trip a few days before, idle as they had been at the time, had struck a cord. What better way to get his mind off everything and return to that elusive "normal", than to get involved with International Rescue again?

So he was going to get up, do his exercises, get washed and dressed and then make his way to his father's study, _without _his crutch. Hiking with Gordon had totally been worth the lectures from Scott and Virgil, because it had proved once and for all that his leg muscles were strong enough to support the rest of his body without any man-made aid. The crutch had become just that – _a crutch_. A symbol of his recovery.

And Alan was done with recovering.

* * *

><p>Standing outside his father's study, Alan paused. He hadn't seen his dad much since his last visit to Doctor Tomass, and when he had there'd been a permanent line of worry etched between Jeff's brows and he'd had a distracted air. It was something Alan had seen before, when there'd been a new business deal on the cards. Probably some kind of prototype jet engine, knowing his dad.<p>

In a way it had been a relief; Jeff's fussing over his recovery had definitely taken a back seat recently. Which hopefully meant he might be more open to the idea that Alan was intending to put forward.

He knocked on the doorframe and, pushing the door open, stuck his head into the room.

"Dad?"

Jeff dropped the paper he was holding and looked up. His face was as drawn and tired as ever - in fact, considering that Alan was the one was recovering from several months in a coma, Jeff actually looked worse. The business deal must be turning out to be more complicated than Alan had thought. "Alan," his dad said, clearly surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Alan fiddled with the door handle. "Have you got a sec?"

Jeff blinked and then appeared to mentally shake himself. "Of course, come in." He switched the monitor of his computer screen off and tided up the papers on his desk as Alan closed the door behind him and moved across to one of the empty chairs.

"You're not using your crutch." Jeff was frowning. "Why aren't you using your crutch?"

Alan sank into the chair gratefully. "I don't need it anymore."

"His Virgil had a look at you?"

"Well, no –"

"So you just decided you didn't need it anymore? Was this on the same day that you _decided _to take a hike through to jungle?"

Alan had been wondering when that would come up, but hadn't reckoned on his dad being so incensed. When days had passed after the hike without a word from Jeff, Alan had assumed his dad hadn't felt the need to add his own verbal lashing to Scott and Virgil's. The expression of his face now put paid to that theory, which only made the whole thing weirder. Why wait so long to launch the lecture?

"What the hell were you thinking, Alan? Or weren't you thinking at all? To take such a stupid risk – did you even think about what could happen?"

"Of course I did!" Alan snapped. "Do you think I'm some kind of idiot? I just had to get out – I felt like I was gonna suffocate here –"

Jeff face darkened and Alan bit his lip, regretting his hasty words. Predictably, this wasn't going the way he'd wanted. He reigned his temper back in with difficulty and took a deep breath. "I'm fine, Dad. Honestly. I feel – I feel better than I have in a really long time. Really."

Jeff looked unconvinced. "I hardly think you're the best person to judge that, Alan. And I'm still not happy about you just _deciding_ that you don't need your crutch anymore."

"I didn't just dec – " Alan interrupted himself and took a second deep breath. He couldn't help the sullen edge that crept into his voice. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"Alan –" Jeff ran a hand through his greying hair. He glanced down at the papers on his desk and then up at his son again. "Of course I'm pleased that you're feeling better. But I'm not going to lie and say that I agree with any of this. You can't just wake up one morning and decide that you're ready to walk on your own again. That's a medical decision, and one you're not qualified to make."

"But Dad –"

"No." Jeff's face was uncompromising. "You may be right; the damage may have been repaired and your legs may be back to full strength again. But until I have a report sat on my desk saying just that, then I want to see that crutch back under your arm again."

"Why did I – I _knew_ you'd react like this!" Alan threw up his hands and laughed bitterly. "Guess this isn't a good time to ask about returning to work then?"

The question caught Jeff off-guard. "What?"

Alan leaned over his father's desk, pushing his advantage. "I want to come back to work. Get involved with missions again. Not full stuff – not yet." He resisted the urge to shoot his father a dark look. "I'm not insane. But there's other stuff I can do to help –"

"Absolutely not. It's out of the question."

There was a note in Jeff's voice, a familiar one that Alan recognised from his earliest childhood. It was the note of finality; the note that never changed its mind; the note that said firmly and calmly that this was the way that things were going to be. For the second time in as many minutes, Alan was taken aback. While he hadn't been expecting his father to be overflowing with enthusiasm for his idea, he hadn't been expecting to hear that note either. It was like the subject wasn't even open for discussion.

"What about the Shanghai mission? You let me help John."

"And as I quite clearly said at the time – that was a one off. I won't have you out in the field until you're completely ready."

"I'm ready now! Okay, not for fully active duty maybe, but surely I could man Mobile Control or something? Dad, you let Scott do that when his leg was healing –"

"Scott wasn't recovering from a life threatening injury." Jeff scooped up his papers and stood. "The answer is "no", Alan. It's too soon. We're not discussing it anymore."

"You're just – you're just gonna dismiss me?" Alan asked incredulously. "Look, Dad, maybe you were right about the crutch thing. How about I keep using it, will you let me back into IR then?"

"Alan, the answer is "no"," Jeff repeated, voice rising. "_No_. Do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Alan spat. "Loud and _damn_ well clear."

"Watch you language," Jeff growled.

"Or you'll do what? Ground me? I'm not thirteen anymore, Dad! I know you want to protect me but you can't wrap me up in cotton wool and just expect me to take it lying down!"

Jeff slammed his hand down onto the desk. "You may not be thirteen but you're still living under my roof, which means you'll abide by _my_ rules and treat me with respect, understand?"

Alan glared back at him, chin set, hands shaking.

"Do you understand?" Jeff thundered.

"Yes, sir," Alan replied through gritted teeth. "May I be excused?"

Jeff stared across the table for a few moments, as if there was something he wanted to say, but he was struggling for the right words. When his gaze faltered and he looked down at his papers again, Alan didn't hesitate. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door firmly shut behind him.

* * *

><p>"Alan?"<p>

Tin-Tin had just returned to her room to pick up a couple of books when she caught sight of her boyfriend, barrelling along the corridor towards her. He was coming from the direction of his father's office and he looked furious.

"Alan!" She caught his arm before he could stride passed and pulled him around to face her. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"What do you think?" Alan snarled. "_Him_, of course. Always him!"

A door opened further down the corridor; Virgil, wanting to know what all the noise was about. Tin-Tin took one look at Alan's angry face and pushed him into her room, closing the door on any nosy brothers. The last thing Alan needed right now was a lecture about the proper level of respect that he should show his father.

Alan paced about the room like some kind of wild animal, picking up items off her desk and then replacing them. It was like his feet were refusing to stand still. Tin-Tin frowned suddenly as he moved across towards the window. Something was different. Beyond the anger and the frustration that she could literally feel rolling off Alan in waves. Something that … he wasn't using his crutch. Where was his crutch?

Tin-Tin didn't realise she had spoken aloud into Alan whirled around, eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't start. Don't you – don't you start with me. I _know_ what I'm doing Tin-Tin! I'm not some – some child. _I know what I'm doing_!"

The pre-accident Tin-Tin would have been shattered by those words, her confidence shredded and any sympathy that she felt towards Alan crushed by the expression on his face. The post-accident Tin-Tin knew that that expression wasn't intended for her; that Alan was just blowing off steam and she happened to be standing in its direction. It still hurt of course, but rather than causing her to withdraw amidst a sea of insecurity, it almost made her smile. If she had ever wanted a sign that the real Alan – the pre-accident Alan – had returned, then surely this was it.

Of course, that didn't mean she had to let him get away with talking to her like that.

"If you're going to shout at me, you could at least give me the benefit of knowing what you're so mad about."

Her cool words pulled Alan up short. He opened his mouth, closed it again and then ducked his head, as if he was trying to hide his expression. "I'm sorry," he muttered finally. "I shouldn't take it out on you."

_No, you shouldn't_, Tin-Tin thought. Alan had become a bit too used to her sympathy over the last several months. It was about time he remembered that he wasn't the only one had suffered as a result of his accident.

"I asked Dad … if I could rejoin IR."

It shouldn't have been a shock, but it was. Somehow Tin-Tin had never thought quite that far down the road. Which was ridiculous really, considering that she herself was a fully-fledged member of International Rescue, and that it had been all Alan had really wanted to do for as long as she'd known him. And yet despite all that, that hazy "someday" when Alan came back to work had always been just over the horizon somewhere, out of sight. With "someday" abruptly becoming "today", Tin-Tin wasn't surprised that the outcome of Alan's conversation with his father hadn't been a positive one.

Something must have shown on her face, because Alan suddenly shifted awkwardly. "I should have discussed it with you first, shouldn't I? I didn't mean to ignore your opinion, I just – I guess I just made the decision and that was that. I'm not used to … sharing things. You know."

His obvious embarrassment made her want to smile. The fact that he hadn't told her – well, yes, it was a little insulting. And it was worrying, because Alan had a reputation for making impulsive decisions and this definitely wasn't the time or situation to be making one of those. But the fact that the thought that he may have upset her had entered his mind at all was surely a step in the right direction.

She took his hand and led him across to her bed, pushing him by the shoulders so that he sat down. She sat beside him, turning her body so that could look into his eyes. "Do I wish you'd spoken to me about this? Well, yeah, it would've been nice. But I'm not angry, Alan." She smiled crookedly. "A little surprised, perhaps. I suppose I hadn't expected to you return to work quite so … abruptly."

"Now you sound like my dad."

"Oh Alan, you must have been expecting it, surely?" Tin-Tin shook her head. "It's because he cares. You _know_ that. He's worried about you. He doesn't want to see you get hurt."

"So he'll wrap me in cotton wool for the rest of my life instead?" Alan pulled back abruptly. "Tin-Tin, he's the leader of International Rescue, for God's sake. An organisation run by his family, which puts them into the line of fire on a daily basis!"

"And maybe your accident has brought that home to him. Maybe he suddenly realises just what he asks of you and your brothers each time he sends you out on a rescue. And as a father, maybe he's trying to protect you from that."

Alan stared at her for a moment and then all the fight seemed to drain out of him. "By isolating me? By stopping me from being a Thunderbird?" He flopped back onto Tin-Tin's bed, the soft mattress cushioning his fall. "What does he think I'm going to do for the rest of my life – become an accountant?"

Tin-Tin joined him, stretching out on her side so that she could see his face. "Of course not. I know you think he doesn't understand you, but sometimes you're so similar that it's scary. I guess … I guess he just thinks it's too soon. Maybe." She pushed a lock of blonde hair out of Alan's face and decided to give voice to her own concern. "Is it too soon?"

He sighed. "I didn't think so this morning. I felt like this was something I _had_ to do. But now …"

His expression was turning inwards, his eyes reflecting his unhappiness. It was something Tin-Tin had become used to seeing over the last several months – the telltale sign that Alan was on the verge of allowing thoughts born of his depression to overwhelm him. Determined to keep him in the moment, she seized on his words.

"Why did you think it was something you _had_ to do right then and there?"

He stared blankly up at the ceiling and for a moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he rolled over onto his side to face her. "I guess … because it's the last step, you know? In the recovery process." An ironic half-smile stole across his face. "Doctor Tomass' recommended it actually."

She should have guessed. Alan really seemed to have taken Doctor Tomass' words to heart this time. "So you don't feel like you can get over what happened until you're back with IR?"

"Yeah."

"Did you tell your dad that?"

"I tried." Alan pulled a face. "We didn't really get that far. You're right, you know. He does think it's too soon."

"Well … can you blame him, really? It was only yesterday that you were still walking around with the aid of a crutch."

Alan pushed himself up one elbow. "Yeah, but that's just it! The whole crutch thing – I think it was just an excuse. It had kinda become a – a mental crutch, if that makes any sense. Throwing it away this morning, walking to dad's office without it - God, Tin-Tin, you have no idea how freeing that felt. I feel like me again."

They were just words really, but for the first time, Tin-Tin thought that maybe Alan wasn't just saying them because he thought that was what she wanted to hear. His expression was open, his eyes clear. The words … he really believed them.

Tin-Tin's answering smile could have powered Thunderbird 1. "Like you again, huh?" She poked him playfully in the ribs. "Well that's a relief."

"Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah," she laughed, leaning across and kissing him gently. Alan smiled against her lips and pulled her on top of him, his kisses growing stronger as his arms worked their way around her waist. She sighed and slid her fingers into his hair. It was silky and freshly washed; Tin-Tin loved the way it felt against her skin.

As Alan began kissing down the line of her jaw, his hands moved up underneath her t-shirt, gliding across the soft skin of her back and raising goose bumps in their wake. Tin-Tin shifted against him, opening her mouth to his tongue, all rational thought disappearing as she gave herself up to emotion. It was only when Alan's fingertips brushed the clasp of her bra that Tin-Tin pulled back, panting. She pressed one more kiss against Alan's lips and then rolled off him.

For a moment they both lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and catching their breath. Tin-Tin tugged her t-shirt back down and pushed her hair out of her eyes. These little … _sessions_ with Alan had been becoming more and more frequent recently. And more and more careless – this time they hadn't even locked the door first. While she was under no illusions that everyone on the island knew about their relationship, there was a difference between knowing something and actually witnessing it.

"What do you think?" Alan said suddenly, breaking into her thoughts. "About me rejoining IR, I mean."

Tin-Tin considered the question. "I think … I think it was inevitable. I mean, it's been such a part of your life for so long – of course you would want to return. Maybe … well maybe I'm a bit surprised that it's so soon, and I can't say that I won't worry … but if it's what you want and you feel ready, then I'll support you."

Alan shook his head, making the bed rock. "See, that wasn't so hard. Why couldn't my dad have just said that?"

Tin-Tin rolled her eyes. Sometimes Alan was about as sensitive as a sledgehammer. "Maybe because he's your dad and boss and I'm just your girlfriend."

"Yeah but –"

"And _maybe_," Tin-Tin interrupted, sitting up and looking down at him. "Maybe I can understand and empathise with you more because you actually explained everything to me. Why don't you try that with your dad?"

"Because he never listens!" Alan countered mulishly, pushing himself up off the bed. "It's like talking to a brick wall –"

"Alan," Tin-Tin touched his face, "why do you think people are always saying you're so alike?"

Alan opened his mouth and then visibly paused. A look of consternation crossed his face, followed quickly by one of irritation and then, finally, grudging resignation.

"Alright. You win. I'll go talk to him again."

"And you'll go with an open mind this time? You'll talk to him properly?" Tin-Tin pressed.

Alan still didn't look enthused but he nodded. "Yeah, as much as I can do. But if he doesn't want to listen –"

"Just be patient, love. And perhaps … willing to compromise."

"Compromise?" He said the word as if it was something nasty he wanted to get out of his mouth.

Tin-Tin smiled. "You'll be okay. But maybe – maybe you should leave it a couple of days. Give your dad a chance to calm down, hmm?"

"You think?"

"Do you want to end up in another argument?"

"Well … no."

"Then yes, I think you should leave it for a while." She poked his arm playfully. "Hey, maybe you should devote your energy to doing some more exercise – building up your muscles again. Prove that you're ready for IR. I think your dad would appreciate that kind of commitment."

Alan smiled ruefully. "Why do you always know the right thing to say?"

Tin-Tin patted him on the cheek. "Because I'm a girl. That's what we do." When Alan didn't look impressed, she laughed. "Okay, maybe it's just because I'm standing on the outside looking in. It gives me a unique perspective on things - means I can be objective."

"Hey, you know what …?" Alan turned his most charming smile on her and Tin-Tin became instantly suspicious. " … You should go talk to my dad for me!"

"Oh no." She stood up and backed away from him, holding up her hands. "I'm not that brave. Or foolish, for that matter."

He rose with her and tried to capture her hands, still flashing those puppy-dog eyes. "C'mon, Tin-Tin!"

"No, no, _no_ – stop looking at me like that! – no, I'm not doing it, Alan –"

"Please?"

"No!" She twisted out of his reach, laughing. "This is something you have to do."

Alan gave up and sat back down on the bed, rubbing his leg absently. Tin-Tin followed his movements, her good humour fading slightly, and she couldn't help wondering if Alan was quite as ready to rejoin IR as he was making out.

"You okay?"

Alan massaged the muscle carefully. "Yeah – just a bit stiff. First day off crutches and all that." He looked up. "Guess I really should take your advice about the exercising, huh?"

Tin-Tin made a quick decision. "You wanna start now?"

He blinked at her, obviously surprised. "You volunteering to keep me company?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Worried you won't be able to keep up?" This was the perfect solution really; she could spend time with Alan _and_ keep a surreptitious eye on his recovery.

"Of course not!" Alan blustered, giving a derisive laugh. "I'd be more worried about the opposite!"

"Let's just remember who was on crutches up until yesterday," Tin-Tin remarked airily as she crossed to her closet. Pulling it open, she rummaged around for a crop top and a pair of running shorts.

"Yeah, well – let's remember which of us has a faster time over two hundred metres!"

Tin-Tin poked her head around her open closet door. "Is that a challenge?" When Alan just grinned smugly, she closed the door and sauntered across to him, clothes in hand. Leaning down, she brought her face so close to his that she could feel his breath on her lips.

"Bring it on."


	6. Chapter Six: Knowledge is Power

**Chapter Six: Knowledge is Power**

The warning klaxon cut shrilly through the early morning.

For Jeff Tracy, already up and working, it almost came as a welcome interruption. They'd been stuck in such a state of limbo recently. Brains' cameras had been finished almost three weeks before, but although they'd been called out for two rescues during that time, one had been a typhoon down in Australia and the other a landslide in Tibet. Neither had shown any link to the bomber and his boys had come back empty handed from both. With Virgil's investigation of Anderson Bradley having reached a standstill, they were now completely reliant on being able to catch the bomber on film.

Then there was Alan. He hadn't brought the subject of rejoining IR again, but Jeff wasn't fool enough to think he'd simply forgotten about it. No, he'd been spending the last couple of weeks training, sometimes with Tin-Tin, sometimes with Gordon, building up the reserves of strength that he'd lost during his convalescence. It had been a blessing in disguise, because it had kept him away from any meetings about the bomber and their ongoing investigation. But Jeff also knew that it was only a temporary reprieve; it was only a matter of time before Alan asked to join the Thunderbirds again. And judging by his conversation with Virgil a few days ago, Jeff didn't really have any medical reasons for declining. Alan was still recovering certainly, and any strenuous rescue work would be beyond him, but he could easily man Mobile Control and help with the general organisation of a rescue site. And as Virgil had reluctantly pointed out, this was no different from the grounds on which Scott had been allowed back on duty following his broken leg.

The klaxon sounded again and Jeff pushed all of his concerns to the back of his mind. Leaning forward, he activated the hand scanner that turned his office into International Rescue's Command Centre.

"What have we got John?"

The face of his second oldest son appeared on the screen. He wasn't looking at Jeff, but at something off-screen and by the sounds of it, he was typing quickly.

"_Wildfire in South Africa, on the Western Cape. I've been monitoring it for the past two hours. It started small and the local authorities were managing to keep it at bay, but the wind's shifted and now it's moving towards one of the local towns. They're worried they won't able to stop it in time, so they called for our help."_

A fire. Jeff closed his eyes briefly, mind racing. The bomber?

"Any evidence of arson?"

"_Not at this stage. But it's always difficult to tell with this kind of fire._" John looked directly at the camera for the first time. "_Natural wildfires _are_ common in this region. There's no reason to suspect this is the bomber._"

"Understood. Who's our contact down on the ground?"

"_Baruti Tenya_._ He seems to be in charge of operations down there and he's the one who made the call. Luckily he speaks pretty good English, or this could have been a tricky one._"

The door to the command centre flew open and Scott hurried in, pulling a shirt over his head. His hair was still damp from the shower and he ran one hand through it distractedly. "What've we got, Dad?"

"Wildfire in South Africa."

His oldest son grimaced. "Great timing."

Before Jeff could ask what Scott meant, Virgil and Gordon entered the room, the latter still dressed in his night clothes and yawning. "Is it just me or are early morning rescues getting more and more common?" he complained, as Fermat and Brains followed them into the room. "Where we going this time?"

"South Africa," Scott supplied shortly. "Wildfire."

Gordon blanched. "You think it's the –"

He broke off as Alan and Tin-Tin hurried into the room. Jeff frowned at his youngest son; like Scott, Alan was up and dressed – which was pretty unusual at this time of the morning. Tin-Tin was dressed too and holding a bag that she handed to Alan. Had they been planning to go somewhere?

Jeff cleared his throat, calling for their attention. "Right, before anyone else asks, it's a wildfire in South Africa. Which means the Firefly, protective gear and everyone on board – Fermat, Tin-Tin, that means you too. You'll go with Virgil and Gordon in Thunderbird 2.

"Now John's been liaising with the local authorities on the ground so he'll be able to fill you in on the specifics during the journey over there. What we do know so far is that the priority isn't stopping the fire, it's making sure that it stays away from any of the outlying towns in the area."

"Dad, what about me and Alan?" Scott interrupted, gesturing to his brother, who had been watching the scene with a guarded expression. At his father's look of confusion, he explained, "I'm supposed to be taking him to see Dr Tomass."

Of course. With everything that had been going on lately, Alan's sessions with the psychologist had completely slipped his mind. Now he realised what Scott had meant by this being bad timing.

"We need everyone onboard for this mission, which means we can't spare you, Scott. Alan, you'll have to fly yourself, I'm afraid."

"Or … I could just cancel."

"No." Jeff shook his head. "Your appointments are important."

"But you just said – " Alan took a deep breath. "You just said that you need all the manpower you can get on this mission. Let me help, Dad. _Please_."

It was completely out of the question, but of course he couldn't tell Alan that. Jeff cursed his youngest son's obstinance and ground out, "I said no, Alan, and that's my final word on the subject. You'll go to Doctor Tomass as usual – I'll ask Kyrano to accompany you."

"No need," Alan bit out, turning on his heel. "I can manage." He stalked towards the open doorway. Tin-Tin ran after him, catching his arm. Jeff couldn't hear what she said to him, but whatever it was seemed to calm him, because he leaned in and kissed her before leaving the room. Tin-Tin watched him go for a few moments and then rejoined the rest of them, ignoring the raised eyebrows of Alan's brothers.

"_Dad, Mr Tenya's asking for an ETA_."

"We're on our way."

* * *

><p>Baruti Tenya was a tall, black-skinned man with a short crop of dark hair that was just starting to go grey. Rangy and slender, he had a soft-spoken voice that you sometimes had to strain to hear. Despite that, he was a man who exuded quiet confidence and whose orders were obeyed without questions.<p>

Scott Tracy liked him. Too often on rescues they were hindered by the local authorities, whether due to the "this is the way we do things here" mentality, or simply offers of help from unqualified people. A man like Baruti Tenya was a breath of fresh air. He didn't complain, he didn't question; he simply explained the situation to Scott and then stepped back, letting him take the lead.

Within ten minutes, Scott had a much clearer picture of the wildfire. It has started approximately five miles north-east of the town of Soweto, about four hours before. The local men of the town had been notified by a farmer, but by that time the fire had already taken root and decimated a square mile of crops. The men had then fought to stop the fire from spreading any further; an action that had been defeated when the abrupt change in wind direction had sent the fire searing towards Soweto.

Scott wasted no time, setting up Mobile Control in the grounds of a nearby farm and maintaining a running commentary with John to keep track of the fire's progress. By the time Thunderbird 2 landed in the field beyond the farm, he'd set up safety zones and developed a number of escape routes should the fire's advance not be stopped.

Fermat and Tin-Tin jogged up to him, the helmets of their protective suits tucked under their arms. "Virgil and Gordon are getting the Firefly ready," the girl explained, pushing a strand of hair back out of her eyes. "They'll be along shortly."

"Good. Okay Tin-Tin, I think I'm gonna need your help here. We've got a team of local men developing a series of firebreaks and I need to go and monitor their progress. Can you hold the fort here; keep us up to date with any information John's getting about fire?"

"FAB." She put her helmet down on the edge of Mobile Control and started talking to John.

Scott turned to Fermat. "When Gordon gets here I want you guys to go and take a look at the original site of the fire. See if we can figure out what caused it."

Fermat looked across at Tin-Tin. "Uh, Scott – shouldn't we focus more on s-stopping it first?" the younger man ventured.

"Virgil and I have got that covered," Scott said shortly. He turned away before Fermat could press any further, pulling his helmet up to his mouth so that he could activate the microphone. "Virgil, you read me?"

"_Loud and clear._"

"What's your ETA?"

"_I'll be coming up on Mobile Control in a couple of minutes. Where d'you want me?_"

"We're gonna be setting up some firebreaks to the north of the town. Hopefully they and the Firefly will be enough to stop the fire and get it down to a more manageable level."

"_FAB._"

* * *

><p>"Um … what exactly are we l-looking for?" Fermat asked breathlessly.<p>

They were standing at the edge of a wide area of blackened grain that spread across several fields. The remains of trees and low hedges could still be made out, but whatever had been planted in the field had been devastated by the fire. A thick trail heading off to the west showed the direction the fire had taken and a thick, acrid layer of smoke still hung in the air.

Gordon swept aside a handful of blackened grain. The stalks splintered at his touch, crumbling away into the dust. Beside him, Fermat sneezed explosively.

"Sorry."

"S'okay." The younger man sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "I don't think my allergies like this p-place."

"_I _don't like this place," Gordon murmured, looking around. Talk about the needle in the proverbial haystack. Fields and fields of destroyed grain … and Scott was really expecting them to find some kind of evidence of arson? The remains of a conveniently placed bomb casing, perhaps?

"Hey … what's that?"

Gordon followed Fermat's outstretched hand and his eyes widened. There, towards the edge of one of the fields, were the burnt out remains of an old car.

"Son of a –"

Gordon hurried across the field towards the wreckage, already knowing what he was going to find. Fermat followed him, huffing and puffing. As they neared the car, it became clear that this was where the fire had started; the damage to the ground was much more extensive and all signs of plant life had been completely obliterated.

"It – it looks like there was some k-kind of explosion," Fermat observed, as acute as ever. Gordon didn't tell him that was exactly what it had been; Fermat was bound to find out about the bomber eventually, but as far as Gordon was concerned, it was someone else's job to tell him. Gordon had never supported this whole secrecy thing anyway.

He brought his helmet up to his mouth. "Scott, this is Gordon."

There was a pause and then his eldest brother's voice came across the airwaves. "_Go ahead._"

"Me and Fermat have just found the site where the fire started. There's a burnt out car. We're gonna investigate further, see if we can find anything but …"

"_Understood. I'll tell the others._"

"Do you think …" Gordon turned his face away from Fermat and lowered his voice. "Do you think he's still around?"

"_Probably. Anyone in your vicinity?_"

Gordon gave the area a cursory glance. "Nah, it's deserted. Didn't you say he stayed in the crowd near Mobile Control last time?"

"_I'm heading back there now. See what you can find in the car._"

"FAB. Oh and … what about Fermat?"

"_What do you mean_?"

"What should I tell him?"

"_Whatever you need to, Gordon._" Scott sounded irritated. "_Just make sure he doesn't pass anything on to Alan, understand_?"

"Yeah. Loud and clear."

He cut the connection to find Fermat watching him from a few metres away, a frown on his face. "What's going on?" he asked.

Gordon sighed inwardly. So much for having the luxury of dumping the big reveal onto someone else's shoulders. Still, at least it meant he could stop having to watch was he was saying all the time and get back to fun of just blurting everything out.

"Fermat … what do you know about bombs?"

* * *

><p>Manning Mobile Control was like being at the nerve centre of International Rescue. It was a position that Tin-Tin had found herself in more and more often recently, particularly when both Scott and Alan had been out of action, and one she enjoyed more than she'd anticipated. Physical rescue work was exciting and got the adrenaline flowing, but helping to coordinate everything could be equally fulfilling. And knowing that Scott trusted her judgment enough to put her in such a position was something that filled her with pride.<p>

She'd been liaising between John, Scott and the local authorities for the past hour or so, while the firebreaks had been prepared and the Firefly moved into position. A sizeable crowd had gathered at the farm during this time; a mix of townsfolk from Soweto, along with a couple of eager reporters and news crews from the larger town of Ratanda to the east. A handful of Baruti Tenya's men had formed a rough barricade to keep the curious bystanders out of harm's way.

Tin-Tin was busy making a note of the latest shift in wind direction when she became aware of someone moving up beside her. Assuming by his silence that it was one of Tenya's men, she finished her recording and then looked up.

The man standing beside her was white, with mousy hair and wire-rimmed glasses. A baseball cap was pulled down low over his head, but it did little to conceal that colour of his skin. His clothes were out of place too; a jacket and dark-blue jeans on what was a fairly warm day. He certainly didn't look like one of Tenya's men, but how else would he have gotten behind the barricade?

In an uncertain situation, always rely on professionalism. Tin-Tin fixed a pleasant smile on her face and straightened. "Can I help you?"

He'd been looking at the Mobile Control screen, she noticed then, and her words made him jump like a naughty schoolboy being caught doing something wrong. His gaze travelled up to her face and he stiffened, his eyes widening. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Tin-Tin repeated her question.

The man blinked and then held up his hand awkwardly. "I – I'm sorry, I've just been so turned around by the fire and I - well, I appear to have injured myself. Could you - please, could you just take a look at my hand?"

After casting a quick glance across Mobile Control to check that nothing needed her attention, Tin-Tin took the stranger's wrist and careful unfolded his fingers. The palm of his hand sported a nasty looking burn, all pink shiny skin and blackened edges. It looked fresh too, which probably meant it was very painful. "How did you get this?" Tin-Tin exclaimed, tilting his hand up to the light of the overhead sun. "I thought no one had been injured in the fire!"

The man became agitated, his fingers twitching. "It was an accident – just an accident. I picked up some metal and –"

So he obviously didn't want to tell her - "Okay, it's okay. Let me see?" She studied the burn more carefully. "This is going to need more medical attention than I can provide, I'm afraid."

"Is there no one here – another member of your team – couldn't they take a look at it? Uh, please?"

"I'm sorry, but they're all occupied with the rescue at the moment." She tilted his hand to the left and right. "I should be able to get this cleaned and bandaged up for you though, and any hospital will be able to provide further care. Do you have transport, or someone that could take you?"

Before the man could answer, John's voice rang out from the unit behind her. "_Thunderbird 5 calling Mobile Control_."

She shot the man an apologetic smile and held up a finger. "Mobile Control receiving – go ahead John."

"_I've just spoken to Ratanda's mayor and he wants to know if you need any further support. He's got the local fire crews from Balito and Giyani on standby if you need the backup._"

"Tell him to keep them on standby, but that we've got things under control here for the moment. Scott and Virgil checked in a few minutes ago and they're making progress against the fire."

"_The firebreaks are working_?"

"Seem to be. As long as the wind doesn't shift again, I think we'll be able to manage."

"_I'm keeping an eye on it, but I think you're going to be lucky for once_."

Tin-Tin smiled. "We're owed some luck."

"_Agreed. I'll let you know if anything changes. Thunderbird 5 out_."

Tin-Tin cut the connection and straightened, running her hands over the small of her back. "Sorry about that, I just – what are you doing?"

The injured man jumped, spinning around and hugging his hand against his chest. He'd been standing over by the end of Mobile Control and for a second, Tin-Tin thought he'd been touching the dials there.

"Just – just looking. I'm sorry, did I do something wrong …?"

"No, of course not." Tin-Tin smiled reassuringly, pushing her misgivings aside. "Now let's see about getting that hand bandaged."

She led him across to where a pile of upturned crates had been stacked and sat him down. Returning to Mobile Control, she pulled out the first aid box that was always stored there in case of emergencies, along with a fresh length of bandage.

"This will only hurt a little," she promised, kneeling down beside the stranger and taking his hand. She started cleaning around the edge of the burn. The man flinched and almost pulled away. "Sorry." She cast around for something to take his mind off the injury. "So, you're not from around here are you?"

He jerked and almost pulled his hand away. "Er – why would you say that?"

"Your accent. British, right?"

This time the man did pull his hand away, so quickly that Tin-Tin lost her balance and pitched forward. She banged her wrist against one of the crates and bit back a particularly vicious swearword.

"Tin-Tin?"

That was Scott's voice – Tin-Tin hauled herself upright and brushed the dirt off her knees. Her wrist was throbbing angrily and when she looked around, all she could see was Scott approaching from one direction and the man hurrying off in the other.

"Wait!" she called, ignoring Scott for the moment and running after the man instead. "Wait, I haven't finished yet!"

He wavered and turned back around to look at her. He still looked like he was ready to bolt at any moment. Why was he running – what was he so afraid of?

Tin-Tin held up her hands. "At least let me bandage that."

He wavered for a bit longer and then offered the injured hand with an air of great reluctance. Tin-Tin kept her mouth shut this time and busied herself with wrapping the length of bandage snugly around the burn. She tied the knot with a flourish and smiled reassuringly at the man. "There! Just make sure you get to a hospital soon, okay?"

He nodded, smiled nervously and then was gone, hurrying back towards the barricade with Tin-Tin staring after him.

"Did he speak to you?"

Scott, forgotten until now, was standing alongside Mobile Control, his helmet in one hand and what looked like a camera in the other. There was the strangest expression on his face: a look of intensity mixed with anger – and just a hint of grim satisfaction.

And it was directed at her.

"Tin-Tin, did he speak to you?" he demanded harshly.

No, she realised slowly, not at her. Not at her at all. The man. He was staring at the man.

Why was he staring at a stranger?

_What the hell is going on_?


	7. Chapter Seven: Seeds of Suspicion

**Chapter Seven: The Seeds of Suspicion **

For the second time in as many months, Alan Tracy returned from his psychologist appointment to an empty house. On the one hand, it was great to be able to slip in unnoticed. On the other hand, there were times the Tracy villa could feel as lonely and cavernous as a basketball stadium at night. Alan padded down the corridor towards the lounge, hoping for some signs of life. He was disappointed; the lounge was as quiet as the rest of the house, a lonely pair of coffee cups on the table the only sign that someone had been there earlier in the day.

Alan dropped his overnight bag onto the sofa and then wandered into the centre of the room, feeling oddly cheated. For the first time … well _ever_ really, he had something he wanted to report back from his meeting with Doctor Tomass, but there was no one around to hear it. Considering how much he had been actively trying to avoid his family recently, and how much they had been dogging his steps, the irony of the sudden role reversal wasn't lost on Alan.

Figuring they must be out on another rescue, Alan grabbed a handful of cookies from the open packet in the fridge and then made his way along the corridor towards the command centre. As he licked cookie crumbs from his finger, he idly wondered if his dad would let him sit in, like that time with John. After all, he didn't have a handy psychologist appointment that Jeff could foist him off on this time.

The door to the command centre was standing slightly ajar, which wasn't unusual in a rescue when Brains would often be sent scurrying back and forth from his lab. What was unusual was the voice that Alan could hear coming from inside the room. It was Scott's and there was none of that slight tang that Alan associated with an electronic broadcast.

Which meant … what exactly? Scott wasn't commanding in the field; he was commanding from the command centre instead? Now that was just weird. Scott was International Rescue's _Field_ Commander, full stop. The only exceptions came when he'd done something to_ really_ piss their dad off, or if he'd been injured.

Oh God, what if Scott had been injured?

Worry fuelling his steps, Alan shoved the last cookie into his mouth and hurried to the open doorway. About to push the door open wider and step inside, he pulled up short.

Through the crack in the door he could so that it wasn't just Scott; the whole of his family were in the command centre. And not just them, but Tin-Tin and Fermat were sitting on one of the low couches too. Even John was up on the vid-screen. Which meant that unless IR had hired some new operatives within the last day or so, then there was no rescue.

A meeting then, and a serious one judging by the expressions on everyone's faces. Serious and … something else. Scott, who was leaning over their father's shoulder, with Gordon and Virgil grouped behind. All four were watching Jeff's computer screen expectedly, though Alan couldn't make out what was being displayed.

"_Almost there_," John said, the sound of typing flying across the airwaves. He was frowning at something off screen.

"How many so far?" Scott asked.

"_Fourty-three close matches, two hundred and ten partial matches and over a thousand with some vague form of resemblance._" John expression turned apologetic. "_I tried to narrow it down as much as I could but there are just too many people in the various databases. MI5 alone turned up fifty-seven of them._"

MI5? It took Alan a moment to place the name – it was one of the branches of the British Secret Service. Something to do with Lady Penelope then. And they were obvious searching for someone – a criminal that she and the Brits needed help in tracking down? It wasn't unheard of; after all, Thunderbird 5 had some of the most advanced software in the world and both legal, and illegal, access to all the main databases on the planet. Alan could remember numerous times in the past when the world's biggest search engine had been called in the clear up a country's mess.

"_I'm cross-checking for nationality, occupation, experience …_" John continued. _"That's helped to narrow the field. If you guys can think of any more parameters, I might be able to narrow it further._"

It was an open-ended question and the occupants of the room exchanged glances. Finally Scott stepped away from the computer and walked across the room. He stopped before Tin-Tin and crouched down. "Is there anything more you can give us? Anything else you remember?"

Tin-Tin kept her eyes to the floor. "No."

"Tin-Tin –"

"I've told you everything."

"The smallest detail would help," Scott urged.

"I've told you everything!" Tin-Tin cried, raising her head. Alan was taken aback to see the anger there. Had something gone wrong on the mission? "Maybe if I'd known about this before – maybe if it hadn't been this giant _conspiracy_ - then I would have known what to look out for!"

"That's enough, Tin-Tin," Alan's dad said firmly, pushing away from his desk. Virgil slipped into his vacated chair and started tapping at the keyboard "We're aware of your feelings on the matter – and yours Gordon," he added, when it looked like Alan's brother was going to interrupt, "but that isn't going to help us now." Gordon's mouth snapped shut and he rocked back on his heels, looking mutinous. Jeff ignored him, moving across the room until he was standing in front of Tin-Tin. Scott rose to feet and stepped back, making room for his father.

"Now if there is anything that you can remember, Tin-Tin, _anything_, then we really need to know."

In the face of Jeff Tracy, the fight drained out of Tin-Tin. Her shoulders slumped and she suddenly looked exhausted. "I'm sorry, Mr Tracy, but I've told you everything I can remember. I wish … I wish I could be of more help."

Jeff patted her on the shoulder. "You've done enough already." He straightened and turned back to the rest of the room. "John, how much longer?"

"_Gimme a sec_ –"

Alan was still watching Tin-Tin, trying to puzzle his way around the previous exchange. So it was that he saw the moment when she raised her head, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear, and noticed him in the doorway. Her eyes widened and what little colour there had been in her cheeks, quickly faded away.

"Alan!"

She might have screamed _bomb_ for the effect her words had. Scott whirled around; Virgil's typing faltered and Gordon folded his arms across his chest, looking grimly satisfied. Fermat shifted uncomfortably, pushing his glasses up his nose.

In the centre of the room, Jeff turned around slowly to face his youngest child. "Alan," he said calmly, "this is a private debriefing."

What? Since when were mission debriefings private? A ripple of anger stirred in Alan's gut. Was this what it had come to now – keeping him out of mission debriefings so that he was as far away from International Rescue as possible?

Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Alan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. I didn't know you guys were in here. I just wanted to –"

"Just give us an hour, will you son?" Jeff continued, sounding perfectly reasonable. "There are still some details we need to discuss."

"Uh, yeah sure."

Confusion overrode anger and Alan found himself becoming distracted by something going on at the back of the room. Over his dad's shoulder he could see Virgil whispering Gordon, who was looking unhappy. Only when Scott stepped over to the pair did Gordon pull back, stalking past his brothers. He sidestepped his father and took a startled Alan by the arm. "I've got this, Dad. C'mon Sprout, I know you're just dying to tell someone all about your latest session with the shrink."

Too confused to protest, Alan allowed Gordon to lead him from the room, glancing back in time to see Jeff closing the door firmly behind them.

* * *

><p>Gordon let go of his arm as soon as they had rounded the corner. "Whew, sorry about that."<p>

Alan stared at him, mind still puzzling over what had just happened. "Gordon … what _was_ that?"

Gordon shrugged. "Mission debrief. Got a bit heated." He looked as if he'd swallowed something unpleasant. "Dad's trying to defuse the situation."

"Between Tin-Tin and Scott?"

"Between Scott and everyone," Gordon muttered. When Alan only looked more confused, he offered, "It was a rough mission. Anyway, enough about us – I wanna hear all about the lovely Doctor Tomass!"

"Gordon …"

"Aw c'mon, Al. I've seen her remember? She's hot!"

"I have a girlfriend remember?" Alan mimicked, allowing his brother to drag him out into the bright morning afternoon sunlight. The sky was a perfect, cloudless blue and the sea sparkled lazily in the distance. Alan shaded his eyes as Gordon began walking along the edge of the pool.

"Yeah, but_ I _don't. You know, maybe I could come with you next time …"

"Gordon, she's at least forty!"

"So?" Gordon spun around, arms waving out as he fought for balance. Despite himself, Alan grinned at his brother's antics. "Do you know how long it's been since … you know?"

"Eugh – that's just gross. She's my _psychologist_,Gordon!"

"Which means she's smart." Gordon apparently thought better of pitching himself headfirst into the pool and danced away down the steps towards the jungle. Alan trailed after him, marvelling at his brother's energy. It was a marked change to the face Gordon had presented in the debrief. It was bordering on … manic.

"I like smart women."

"So go find yourself another one. You're not sleeping with my bloody _psychologist_." Gordon just laughed, following the path as it wound down towards the trees.

"Where are you going?" Alan called.

Gordon stopped next to one of Kyrano's neat little flowerbeds. He eyed the tall, green plant he was standing beside with some curiosity, reaching down and snapping off a leaf. "Dunno really. The beach?"

Alan gave up the fight. "Why not?"

It was a short, twisting walk down to the beach, a small stretch of sand that was directly beneath the Tracy villa. Alan and Gordon stepped out of the jungle, the former brushing fragments of leaf off his fingers. For a moment they both just took in the vista in silence.

"You know, it's easy to forget living here all the time … but this place is beautiful."

"Yeah."

" … Kinda like Doctor Tomass."

"_Gordon_!"

Gordon took off down the beach, laughing. Alan followed more slowly, pausing to strip of his shoes and socks. By the time he reached the shore, Gordon was perched on a rock, watching the surf. Alan dropped down beside him.

"Seriously, Al. Did it go okay, the session?"

Alan looked up at his brother but Gordon was still focused on the waves. Typical of the waterboy. "It was good."

"Good."

"Don't you want to know anymore?"

"Should I?"

Alan smiled. "Dad normally gets a word-by-word account."

"Yeah well I'm not Dad," Gordon said flatly.

Alan stirred the sand beneath his feet with one toe. "I got some good news."

"Yeah?"

"Doctor Makura saw me. She gave me a clean bill of health."

Now Gordon did look at him, surprise written across his face. "Seriously?"

Alan nodded. "It was Doctor Tomass' idea, but I can't believe it didn't think of it sooner. Dad can hardly ignore my doctor, can he?"

Gordon was silent for a moment. "So you'll be coming back to IR?"

"You think? Gordon, I've been chasing my tail for months now – of course I'll be coming back." When Gordon didn't say anything else, Alan frowned. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

"I am, I just … I don't know what Dad's going to say."

For some reason, Alan got the feeling that that wasn't what Gordon had been going to say.

"I'm fit, I'm healthy and I've been given the all clear by my attending physician," Alan leant back on his arms and turned his face to the sun. "He's got no reason to say no."

"Yeah, but you know Dad. Expect the unexpected."

Alan cocked his head towards Gordon. "Has he said something to you?" he asked suspiciously. Twice now he'd announced his plans to return to IR and twice Gordon had been inexplicably reluctant. Did he know something that Alan didn't?

"Dad?"

"No, God," Alan said sarcastically. "Of course Dad."

"About what?"

"Me. Rejoining IR."

Gordon shot him a strange look. "Why would he talk to me about that?"

Alan couldn't tell if he was lying or not. It was an unsettling thought. Fermat and Tin-Tin aside, Gordon was his best friend. Alan needed to be able to trust him.

Alan decided to try another angle. "But he does want to keep me out, doesn't he?"

"Alan, where are you getting this stuff?" Gordon sounded annoyed. "You're wrong, so just leave it alone, okay?"

The flat denial only fuelled Alan's growing anger and suspicion. He came back to the idea he'd had in his dad's office and decided he liked it a whole lot more now.

"That's what the business with the debrief was about, isn't it?" he challenged.

"What?"

"That's what the business with the debrief was about!"

"What are you –"

"We don't have private debriefings, Gordon! We've never had them!" Alan shook his head. "God you guys must think I was born yesterday or something. You were trying to keep me out of that room, weren't you?"

"Yes we were," Gordon agreed unexpectedly. Alan blinked at him. "The fire in Africa … it was a mess. No casualties, but a lot of people's lives ruined. Miles of crops burned to the ground. Certain decisions were made that … that some of us didn't agree with. Things got a bit out of hand, so Dad hauled all our asses in for a debrief. The last thing the situation needed was you blundering into the middle of it."

Alan thought about that for a moment, grudgingly seeing the logic in his brother's words. His anger slowly subsided, but something inside of him refused to the subject go completely. "What about the guy you were looking for?"

Gordon shook his head, indicating he didn't understand.

"The guy you were searching Five's databases for. That was what John was doing, wasn't it? And Tin-Tin seemed to know something about it too."

"Man, how long were you in the doorway," Gordon joked, running a hand through his copper hair. "Look, Tin-Tin saw a suspicious guy at the fire. We think he might have started it, so we're trying to track him down for the local police."

"I guess that makes sense …" Alan brushed his feet through the sand again, feeling faintly foolish. "So it's got nothing to do with keeping me out of IR?"

"Sorry to disappoint your ego, kiddo, but not everything's about you." Gordon ruffled his hair, taking the sting out of his words. "Dad was just trying to stop you from making a bad situation worse. Nothing more."

Alan pushed his hair back into some semblance of order, scowling as his brother laughed. "What about you then?" he demanded belligerently.

"What about me?"

"Why don't you want me back in IR?"

Gordon shifted beside him. "I never said that."

"Yeah well you never gave me the thumbs up either. In fact, you didn't say much of anything. I wasn't expecting backflips, but some kind of encouragement would have been nice."

"You don't need my approval." Gordon stood up and stretched before taking a few steps towards the ocean. "God I love this place."

"Stop changing the subject," Alan shot back. "Just tell me the truth!"

Gordon visibly flinched. Alan immediately felt like a jerk – by Gordon's own admission, he'd just come from a really tough rescue. The last thing he needed was to be yelled at.

"The truth …" Gordon laughed strangely, his back still to Alan. "Yeah, I'd like to do that."

"What's stopping you?"

Gordon was silent for such a long time that Alan thought he wasn't going to answer. Alan was about the shrug it off and drop the subject when Gordon said, very quietly, "Fear."

It was an odd concept for Gordon, a man who laughed his way through life. He never seemed to be afraid of anything. It was a Tracy family trait that – being stoic in the face of terror, hiding emotions, giving the impression of invincibility. Though Alan knew from personal experience that it was all just façade and they were all just men underneath, it was still surprising to hear such an admission aloud. In some ways it was touching that Gordon would be so completely honest with him.

Now that the word was out, Gordon seemed to relax. He blew all of the air out of his mouth and swung his arms back and forth, before turned back around, a crookedly smile firmly in place. "God that sounded pathetic."

"It sounded honest," Alan corrected.

"I guess. Look, you have to understand, Al … what I felt when I found you in that bathroom … I never want to feel like that again. And that happened because you were in IR, so …" Gordon trailed off and shrugged, looking away.

" … So you're not sure if you want me back in," Alan finished, comprehension dawning.

"Pretty much."

"Huh."

Gordon perched on the rock beside him. "You mad?"

"Mad? No. I get it, I do." How to explain? "But you know it's not going to change anything, right I can't just spend my life on the sidelines. I'm going to rejoin IR."

"Yeah, I know," Gordon sighed gustily, his good humour returning in full force. "What can I say? I tried. Just promise me you'll wear your damn helmet this time."

Alan laughed, with just a touch of bitterness. "Trust me; you're not the only one who doesn't want to go through that again."

Gordon slung his arm around Alan's shoulders and hugged him. Alan endured the embrace for several long moments, until he felt Gordon's arm tightening. "Geddof!" he gasped, pushing his brother off the rock.

Gordon hit the sand and rolled, coming to his feet like a cat, grinning madly. Alan glared at him. "You're a jerk."

"Yep." Gordon bent down and scooped up a handful of sand. Alan had just enough time to slip backwards off the rock before Gordon lobbed the missile in his direction. As grains of sand rained down around him, Alan protested, "Gordon!"

He was rewarded with a mouthful of sand, which made him sneeze. Gordon took the opportunity, literally in both hands, to dump a pile of sand down the back of Alan's t-shirt. Coughing and spluttering, Alan grabbed a handful of his own and rose up, looking for his brother.

Gordon was standing down by the water's edge. "So you reckon you're all better now, huh?" he shouted. "Prove it!"

He took off on down the beach in an easy, loping run. Never one to resist a challenge, Alan brushed the sand out of his hair sprinted after him.

* * *

><p>When they returned to the Tracy villa a couple of hours later, sweaty and exhausted, it was to find Jeff Tracy waiting for them in the kitchen. Alan pulled up short at the sight of their father, but it was Gordon who had Jeff's attention. "Pack a bag," the Tracy patriarch said with preamble. "You and Scott are going to the UK."<p>

Alan's eyes widened. "A rescue?"

Jeff looked across at him. "Lady Penelope has requested our assistance with tracking down a person of interest in a number of unsolved cases."

Gordon, who had pulled a face at the mention of his oldest brother, suddenly became still. "Has the man been identified?" he asked carefully.

"Scott can fill you in on the details," Jeff said shortly. "Get cleaned up. You leave in an hour."

"FAB." Gordon hurried out of the room without so much as a goodbye.

Alan frowned after him, confused by his reaction. "Dad …"

Jeff ran his eyes over his youngest son with a distracted air. "You're still looking thin Alan," he told him abruptly. "Make sure you eat enough at dinner, understand?"

Before Alan could respond, his father was following Gordon out of the kitchen, his long strides taking him out of sight in a matter of seconds. Alan was left standing alone in the middle of the silent room, wondering why his dad hadn't asked him about his session with Doctor Tomass, and trying to shake the feeling that he was missing something important.


	8. Chapter Eight: Closing the Net

**A/N:** Just a very quick author's note to say a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! It's great to know you're enjoying the story and I hope you continue to do so.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: Closing the Net<strong>

_Name:__ Richard Anthony Wilcox_

_Place of birth:__ Worcester, England_

_Age:__ 31_

_Education:__ Attended Worcester Sixth Form College where he excelled in Science and Maths. Graduated from Imperial College, London with a BSC degree in Physics, with Advanced Mathematics (First Class Honours). Graduated from Cambridge University with a Master degree in Geophysics. __Studied for a Ph.D in Advanced Geophysics and Mathematic Formulae at Cambridge University – currently incomplete._

_Employment History:__ While studying for his Ph.D degree, worked as a lab assistant for Professor Michael Tyers._

_Hobbies:__ Making bombs, starting fires and stalking International Rescue_

Gordon stared at the photograph of the man who'd been plaguing International Rescue for more than half a year. He looked so … normal. The kind of guy you wouldn't glance twice at if you passed him in the street. Neither attractive, nor unattractive just … well, just kind of bland. Why was it that in films the bad guys always had wicked scars, or golden teeth, when in real life they were just people?

He ran his eyes over the biographical information for the fiftieth time. Richard Wilcox was a smart guy. A Cambridge graduate, he'd been obsessively focused on his work to the point that there were several notes from a psychologist, who had been called in to judge his suitability for a position on the physics staff, about his social awkwardness and reluctance to engage in long-term relationships. Evidently the psychologist had given his approval despite his misgivings, because Wilcox had joined the physics faculty a few months later, working as a lab assistant to one of the senior professor.

By all reports, he'd had a shining career in physics ahead of him. During his years at Cambridge, he'd co-written papers with some of the most pre-eminent physicists in the UK, as well as working towards a Ph.D in Advanced Geophysics. And then … nothing. Richard Wilcox fell off the map at the age of twenty-eight, a few months from completing his Ph.D. It was like the records had been erased – or had never existed in the first place. There was just a brief footnote indicating that Cambridge University had chosen not to renew his contract. No explanations were offered, but given the man's penchant for building bombs, Gordon could hazard a guess as to the reason.

But as to what might have turned a promising young physicist into a global arsonist … well if that information could have been gleaned from a picture, Gordon would have known by now.

* * *

><p>"For God's sake!"<p>

Scott slammed on the brakes and Gordon grabbed for the papers as they began to slide off his lap. He looked across in time to see Scott giving the driver of the car in front of them the middle finger.

"Why don't you tell them how you really feel," Gordon suggested sardonically.

Scott shot him an ugly look. "Why don't you just keep your mouth shut?"

Gordon's fingers tightened around the papers, but he didn't take the bait, not this time. The whole trip had been like this, one tense exchange after another. Scott had been moody and unapproachable since they'd left Tracy Island and on the few occasions he had opened his mouth, what had come out had been curt, with an edge of impatience that had surprised even Gordon. Sure, things hadn't been great between them recently, but Scott's attitude was taking things to a whole new level.

As if to compound Gordon's misery, the professor they'd travelled half way across the world to speak to had been out of the country at a conference. This had led to three fruitless days of fact finding at the MI5 headquarters in London, the grand total of which was now resting on Gordon's knees. It wasn't much; aside from his stirring scientific career, Wilcox had three unpaid parking tickets and a side note that he'd once witnessed a drunken fight on the Cambridge University campus.

Suffice to say, the delay hadn't helped to improve Scott's mood. As his brother eased the car onto the motorway slip road, Gordon contented himself with scowling at the side of his head and feeling distinctly victimised. There were no prizes for guessing why it was him, and not Virgil, sitting in the passenger seat of the Mercedes S Type as it powered its way along through the English countryside. Their dad was nothing if not persistent. Too busy with the bombing investigation to deal with his warring sons, Jeff Tracy had obviously fallen back on the tried and tested locked-room adage. Only this time the room was a luxurious, leather-seated car and the lock was … well, the fact that it was moving.

Still, it looked like their dad was going to be disappointed. Gordon was currently leaning more towards fratricide than reconciliation.

He breathed an internal sigh of relief when a sign with "Cambridge" firmly stamped on it flashed passed. Looked like he might be able to hold onto his sanity after all, particularly when the calming influence of one Lady Penelope was added into the mix. Even Scott wouldn't dare to snap at the inestimable Lady P.

Scott slowed for the roundabout at the top of the slip road, tapping his fingers impatiently on the wheel as the line of cars in front struggled to join the steady flow of traffic. For once, Gordon could understand his brother's frustration; he'd never understood the European obsession with roundabouts. Sure, it meant a lot less traffic lights, but the whole having-to-give-way-to-the-right thing made no sense. What if, like now, the traffic from the right never let up? A vision of being stuck on the slip road with Scott forever made him feel like he'd swallowed something unpleasant.

The car in front, a little red model that Gordon wasn't familiar with, finally eased out into the traffic. Muttering something unflattering about women drivers, Scott followed, the Mercedes pressed up so closely against the red car that it was like they were attached. Before Gordon could warn Scott to back off, his brother swept off to the left, taking the second exit.

Gordon frowned up at the road sign; any mention of Cambridge had vanished. Deciding that his curiosity was worth the abuse that was likely to follow, Gordon asked, "Uh, isn't Cambridge _that_ way?" He gestured vaguely back over his shoulder.

"This way's quicker," was all Scott said.

Well _that_ was interesting. Scott had been to Cambridge University before; Gordon was pretty sure about that. But unless his brother had some kind of photographic memory, then the fact that he could remember a quicker route to the university was, well, weird. Maybe he'd swallowed a Sat-Nav or something. Gordon wouldn't put it past him.

Whatever the reason for Scott's miraculous memory, he wasn't wrong. No more than ten minutes later, they were rolling onto the leafy campus and Scott was pulling up next to a tall, redbrick building with some fading writing over the arched entrance. Ivy twined up the side of the building, giving it the impression that it had some kind of speckled disease.

Gordon thrust the car door open, took a deep breath of fresh air, and then promptly shivered. It was colder here in England; even in the summer, with the sun high overhead, temperatures rarely rose above thirty degrees. The short-sleeved t-shirt Gordon was wearing felt thin and insubstantial.

A slender figure emerged from the shade of the archway, her smile almost eclipsing the sun. "Hello, Darlings."

Lady Penelope, dressed as impeccably as ever in a pink sundress, wide-brimmed white hat and matching white high-heeled shoes. She glided down the path towards them, for all the world like a model on a runway. Which, Gordon reflected, was something she was probably pretty used to.

She pressed her lips against his cheek and he caught a light wisp of flowery perfume before she drew back and bestowed the same welcome on Scott. "How _are_ you, my boys? And how was your flight?"

"Long," Gordon replied with a groan, stretching out his arms and looking around. Beyond the ivy-entwined building, the campus was bustling. Students hurried between the old buildings; one group were throwing a ball back and forth on the open green. It was loud, alive, exciting and Gordon couldn't help feeling a pang of envy. As much as he loved his family and his job, it was easy to miss that college atmosphere. And being around people who _weren't_ closely related to him.

"Where are we meeting this Professor Tyers?" Scott asked, getting straight down to business as usual.

Lady Penelope adjusted her dark sunglasses. "He's waiting for you in the faculty office. The Dean has instructed him to cooperate with you in any way he can."

"Then let's go." Without waiting for any sign of agreement, Scott swept down the path towards the redbrick building. He didn't so much as glance up at the signpost outside it, which made Gordon's eyebrows rise. Yep, Scott had definitely been here before, and more than once by the looks of things.

"Interesting," the younger man murmured before following Lady Penelope up the path.

* * *

><p>The physics faculty office, it turned out, was inside the redbrick building. With Scott leading the way, Gordon and Lady Penelope stepped into the lofty atrium, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. Lady Penelope removed her sunglasses and tucked them away inside her dress. Gordon wasn't sure where, but he knew that any closer inspection would likely earn him a slap.<p>

They followed Scott down a series of long corridors, occasionally passing the odd student or professor, all of whom did a double take when they saw Lady Penelope. She seemed mildly amused by the attention, taking it all in her stride. Gordon was happy to trot along in her wake, his mind still trying to work over the puzzle of his brother's amazing sense of direction.

They passed a small, interior courtyard, artfully landscaped, and then two sets of double doors later, Scott came to a halt in front of a solid-looking, wooden door.

"We're here," he said unnecessarily and knocked.

There were a few moments of silence and then the door swung inward. The man on the other side was tall – taller even than Scott – with short, greying hair and bright blue eyes. He was wearing a lab coat, but apart from that, there wasn't much of the "mad professor" air about him that Gordon had been expecting. It was almost disappointing.

"Professor Tyers?" Scott didn't wait for a reply. "We're here about Richard Wilcox."

Rather than being cowed by Scott's abrupt manner, the man gave him a measuring look. "You'd better come in then."

The interior of the faculty office was as rich and opulent as a room in one of England's stately homes. Everything about it screamed Old Boy's Network, from the leather chairs and couches, to the curved ceiling arches and thick, velvet drapes. There were three desks in the room, two along the walls next to the floor-length windows and one at the end of the room. It was towards the latter that Professor Tyers headed, taking off his lab coat and hanging it on a coat stand as he did so.

"Won't you take a seat?"

There were two chairs in front of Tyers's desk; Scott settled into the furthest and Gordon, after a quick glance at Lady P, opted for leaning against the wall instead. The professor sat across from them, moving some papers off his desk and tucking them away in a drawer. When he looked up, he met Scott's eyes squarely. "What do you want to know?"

"You knew Richard Wilcox then?"

"Yes, he was a lab assistant of mine. I worked alongside him for several years."

"Until he was dismissed?"

"Until he was dismissed, yes."

"What was he like?"

The professor leaned back in his chair and considered. "Brilliant. Quite brilliant. Some of his ideas …" He shook his head. "Richard didn't see things the way that you or I might. His thoughts were abstract. Unusual. Sometimes ground-breaking."

"Sometimes dangerous?"

Tyers nodded. "We encourage healthy professional curiosity here, but not obsession. Unfortunately many of Richard's ideas fell into the latter category."

"Is that why he was dismissed?" When Tyers frowned, Scott tried to clarify the question. "Did he attempt something dangerous?"

"Not exactly. Though I believe that could have been his intention. He was trying to prove a theory –" Tyers's tone darkened. " – and a colleague caught him stealing chemical components from one of our laboratories.

"A colleague?"

"One of my other lab assistants at the time."

"Do you have a name? We'll need to speak to them too."

"Professor Katherine Oliver."

Scott tensed. When he didn't say anything else, Lady Penelope looked askance at him and then asked, "Where might we find this Katherine Oliver?"

"She's on the staff here. Her office is on the third floor."

"We'll talk to her later," Scott found his voice again, his tone brusque. "What more can you tell us about Wilcox?"

As Scott continued to quiz the professor about everything from Wilcox's sleeping habits through to his favourite food, Gordon watched his brother. It would have been almost imperceptible to anyone that didn't know Scott well, but something about the name Katherine Oliver had startled him. He'd recognised the name somehow. Coupled with Scott's recent flair for directions and Gordon began to wonder.

After Scott had bled the lake of Professor Tyers's knowledge dry – and Gordon had taken so many notes his hand was cramping painfully – they bid farewell to Lady Penelope (she had a dinner with the Dean of the college to attend) and headed back towards the car. Scott was as quiet as ever and although Gordon tried to get some kind of reaction out of him with several, "So, what now?" comments, he drew a blank. Then Scott stopped suddenly, just past the interior courtyard. Gordon carried on for several more feet before he realised his brother wasn't with him.

"What's up?" he demanded, turning back.

Scott's expression was hard to read. "Can you find something to do for a while?"

"Huh?" He hadn't been expecting that.

"Look around the campus or something."

" … I guess," Gordon said slowly. "Er – why?"

"There's something I need to do."

What _that _was illuminating. Gordon raised his eyebrows and waited. Scott's expression darkened. "Will you just do what someone asks you for once, without complaining?" he snapped, turning on his heel and disappearing back through the double doors.

Gordon stared after him for a few moments, swallowing back the murderous thoughts that were fighting for control. He really, _really_ disliked Scott right now. To the point of wanting to find a tall window and shove him out of it, or maybe just smashing his fist into that frowning face. The second option was so tempting that he balanced on the balls of his feet, thinking it through. Then sanity returned and with a regretful sigh, Gordon pulled the double doors open and poked his head through.

Unsurprisingly, the corridor beyond was empty, his brother long gone. As Gordon was wondering what he should do now, one of the doors opposite the courtyard swung inwards and a stream of students started spilling out and heading towards him. A couple of them cast curious glances his way as he held the door open, giving Gordon an idea. Fixing a charming smile on his face, he approached the nearest group of girls.

"Would one of you mind showing me the way to Professor Oliver's office?"

* * *

><p>Several flights of stairs later – and wishing that the original architects of the building had had the foresight to leave room for elevators to be installed – Gordon reached the third floor. His guide – Liz, she'd said her name was - pointed out Professor Oliver's office and then paused, looking up at him.<p>

"I finish classes at four, if you're around later …?" Her voice had a beautiful lilting accent.

Gordon felt a pang of regret. Liz really was very pretty; petite, with huge dark eyes and dark auburn hair. If he had more time – but no, as usual, he had to follow Scott. Gordon cursed his brother inwardly.

"Sorry, but I've gotta get back home," he admitted reluctantly.

Liz shrugged, wiry good humour in her face. "It was worth asking. Well, it was nice to meet you, Gordon. Have a safe journey and all that." With a toss of her hair she was strolling off down the corridor, Gordon's eyes following her until she was out of sight.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Gordon contemplated the corridor. It was lined with offices, shiny gold plaques glinting merrily in the sunlight that streamed through the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows. Forget the lack of stairs – the architects of this place had totally known what they'd been doing. It really was beautiful, in that old-worldly way that England did so well.

After wandering a few metres down the plush carpet, Gordon became aware of voices coming from one of the offices off to the left. They seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet of the department and he was still a couple of doors away when the words became clear enough to hear.

"… know him? Richard Wilcox?"

The voice was Scott's – Gordon would have recognised it anywhere. But he sounded odd; his voice was too tightly controlled and there was something else there too, a kind of desperation that Gordon had never heard before.

"Yes, yes, I did – you know I did, Christopher told you! It's not like it's some kind of secret … What is this all about, Scott?"

The woman – Katherine, Gordon assumed – sounded confused and upset.

"Were you just colleagues?" Scott demanded.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Answer the question!"

"Don't order me around like one of your subordinates!" Katherine shouted. There was a brief silence. When Katherine spoke again, her voice was level, calmer. "Why do you want to know about Richard? What are you even _doing_ here? When we last spoke –"

"Dammit, Kate!" Scott exploded suddenly, shockingly, making even Gordon jump. "Just tell me how you know him!"

"He's my friend," she shot back coldly. "My friend and colleague. Now tell me what's going on or get the hell out of my office."

But Scott wasn't to be deterred. "Where is he now?"

"God you're not going to tell me, are you?" Katherine laughed sarcastically. "Who do you think you are, Scott Tracy? You think that just because we have sex every couple of months that gives you some kind of claim on me? _Wake up_! I'm not _yours_ and I'm not answering any more of your damn questions. If you won't tell me what's going on then I'll make things really simple. _I'll_ leave."

The door snapped open. Gordon considered trying to make it look as if he hadn't been eavesdropping by sidling past, but before he could do anything a woman swept out of the office.

"Kate – " Scott had followed, reaching out for her, but she stepped out of his reach. The expression on her face was a mix of hurt, humiliation and fury. Scott's outstretched arm faltered and then she was gone.

Gordon looked across at this brother and any quips, or eager questions, died on his lips. For a moment – just a moment – Scott's expression was completely open and full of all the human emotions that his brother normally fought so hard to hide. Pain, anger, longing, confusion – even fear. Then he noticed Gordon and the moment was gone; the shutters snapped back into place and Scott the Field Commander from Hell was back.

"What the hell are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to go occupy yourself? Why don't you ever_ listen_?" Anger overflowing, Scott grabbed Gordon by his shoulders and slammed him against the wall. "Are you _spying_ on me?"

With everything that had passed between them since Alan's accident, this was the breaking point. It was like time almost came to a standstill and Gordon saw the choices laid out before him like forks in a road. He could belt Scott in the face and between the two of them, probably do irrevocable damage to both their relationship and Cambridge University's Physics Department. Or… or he could respond to what he'd seen on Scott's face when Katherine had been leaving. He could ask the questions and listen to the answers, and actually have a conversation with his older brother for the first time in months.

Gordon wasn't a saint and the first option was tempting. So much so that his hands actually balled into fists and he shoved Scott away from him with such force that the older man stumbled backwards, releasing him. But then Gordon drew back, holding up his hands in front of his face instead of following through with a punch.

Scott stared at him incredulously. He was obviously itching for a fight and Gordon's lack of aggression had him on the back foot.

Gordon lowered his hands slowly. He was breathing hard, muscles still tense – just like Scott. In fact, his older brother still looked like he wanted to rip Gordon into a million pieces, which wasn't exactly reassuring. Gordon's hands wavered again, ready to defend his face if Scott lunged forward.

"Who is she?" Gordon asked. "To you I mean."

"None of your business," Scott growled.

"Well yeah, I guess not. But you know, you seem kinda shaken up, so I'm just wondering…"

"If you can stick your nose in?"

"If you needed to talk," Gordon said bluntly.

Scott held his gaze for several long moments. "And why would I talk to _you_?"

_Ouch_. Still, Gordon had to admit he had a good point. Scott was hardly the first person he would choose to confide in either. Especially after everything that had passed between them recently. So instead of being offended, Gordon simply crossed his arms over his chest and said nonchalantly, "Because I'm here."

Scott let out of his breath in a rush and turned away, all the fight draining out of him. There was a bench outside Katherine's office, an old-fashioned wooden one, and he slumped down onto it, resting his face in his hands. He was quiet for so long that Gordon was sure he wasn't going to answer.

"She's my girlfriend," his brother said finally, voice muffled. "And I think she might be involved in what happened to Alan."


	9. Chapter Nine: Secrets and Lies

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay in posting - I've been struggling with a tricky part of chapter ten, and it was only when I finally finished it and went to post that I realised I hadn't actually posted chapter nine yet! So here it is, with chapter ten to follow next weekend. As always, huge thanks to all of the great readers out there who have reviewed this story and keep 'em coming - I love hearing what you think of my work :)

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Secrets and Lies<strong>

Alan Tracy had never really been one for introspection. Sure, he wondered about things, like most people, but when it came down to it, he would much rather by diving headfirst into action than idly passing the time in thought. So his recovery had been frustrating, often emotional exhausting and frequently painful. It was probably the single most difficult thing he'd ever accomplished, which made it all the harder to accept that no one else seemed to give a damn.

Aside from that conversation with Gordon over a week ago now, no one else had asked about his session with Doctor Tomass, not even his dad. Normally this would have had him jumping for joy, but the lack of attention was not only slightly offensive, it was also plain weird. His family had gone from following him around like a bunch of clucking hens to barely giving him the time of day.

His dad's attitude worried him the most. It would be easy to assume that his dad was just giving him some space, but Alan knew Jeff Tracy. On every other occasion when he'd returned to the island after an appointment, Jeff had demanded a blow-by-blow appraisal of the session. This time there'd been nothing. In the few times he'd seen Jeff since Gordon and Scott had left, his father hadn't even mentioned the subject. Which was just great when Alan was on the verge of asking, once again, if he could re-join IR.

The whole thing had left him feeling oddly unsettled. It wasn't that he _needed_ the attention or anything – in a way, it came as a huge relief – but to not have anyone even care … that was kinda hard to take. There should at least be some kind of celebration, but every time he managed to pin one of his family members down, they'd be distracted, impatient and ultimately dismissive.

The African mission … what had happened out there that had got them all so on edge? And what did Lady Penelope's mystery man have to do with anything? All Alan had was half an overheard conversation and that somewhat erratic conversation with Gordon, but he was fairly sure that something big had gone down. Big enough that all IR's resources were being devoted to getting to the bottom of … well, whatever it was. And big enough that Jeff would risk sending two active members of International Rescue off to England, when a rescue call could come in at any second. Virgil was good, no question, but only having Fermat and Tin-Tin as wingmen?

And speaking of Tin-Tin – what the hell? She was lying out by the pool right now, drinking in the early morning sun, her long tanned legs stretching out in front of her and a laptop resting on her knees. An aqua blue halter-top and short sarong covered her dark skin and there were a pair of white sunglass resting on her hair. Nothing wrong with that picture, only it was the first time Alan had seen her in days.

It had been like having a relationship with a ghost recently – an attractive, highly intelligent ghost, but a ghost nonetheless. On the few occasions he had managed to catch up with her, she'd made some excuse and he'd been left standing there like an idiot as she hurried away. If she trotted the party line "I'm busy with work for your dad" past him one more time, he was likely to scream. Either that or drag her into the nearest room with a lock and refuse to let her out until she told him what was going on.

He'd come to the conclusion that he must have done something wrong. Even taking into account a stressful mission, her behaviour just wasn't adding up. So there must have been something … an argument maybe, one that he'd forgotten to apologise for. Or an anniversary he'd overlooked. Her birthday? No, that wasn't due for a few months yet … Whatever; if he could just pin her down for a few moments, maybe he could actually find out, beg her forgiveness and then things could get back to normal.

Deciding there was no time like the present, Alan stepped out into the sunlight, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the glare. He walked barefoot across the warm patio stones and dropped down onto an empty sunlounger beside Tin-Tin.

"Hey."

She slammed her laptop closed so quickly that she almost squashed her own fingers. Alan raised his eyebrows. "Looking at something you shouldn't be?"

Tin-Tin smiled awkwardly. She didn't meet his eyes. "Just some work for your dad."

Surprise, surprise. "Anything good?" Alan reached for the laptop but Tin-Tin reacted too quickly, hugging it against her chest.

"Don't, Alan."

Her tone was sharper than he'd expected. He stared at her, willing her to look up, but she still wouldn't quite look at him. Finally he sat back and held his hands up. "Alright, I was just messing around."

She was definitely uncomfortable with him being there. It was clear in every line in her body and made even clearer when she pushed her hair back behind her ear and used it as an excuse to look around for an escape route. Catching this, Alan lost his patience.

"Alright," he said, swinging his legs around so that he was facing her. "What have I done wrong?"

She was so startled she actually met his eyes for once. "What?"

"Well you're obviously pissed off at me about something."

"No I'm not," she objected, frowning.

"Tin-Tin, c'mon. Just tell me what I've done. The suspense is killing me."

She looked upset, he realised. And as he studied her face, he saw that she also looked tired. There were dark smudges under her eyes and she was wearing hardly any make up. Was this the result of stress? Had the Africa mission really been that bad?

"You haven't done anything," she told him.

"Then why've you been avoiding me?"

Her eyes widened slightly and then she turned away again, suddenly finding the still surface of the pool absolutely fascinating. "I haven't been avoiding you."

He wondered if her reply sounded as weak to her as it did to him. It was such an obvious lie, it almost made him angry. Why wouldn't she just admit it? How was he supposed to fix things if she left him hanging?

"So that's why I haven't seen you all week?" Alan leaned forward, touching her bare knee. "Tin-Tin, every time I see you lately, you run away from me."

"I've been busy," she said flatly, twisting away from him to put her laptop down on the stones on the other side of the sunlounger, firmly out of his reach. When she turned back, she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them.

"Doing work for my dad, yeah I know. And you know what? I don't believe that for a second. No – just listen a second, okay? I've obviously done something bad, but I dunno what it is, so you're gonna have to help me out here."

"You haven't done anything!" she snapped. "It's work, I told you!"

Alan threw his hands up in the air. "This is just like back after my accident," he complained, frustration making him thoughtless. "When I couldn't remember our kiss and you got so angry – it's not _fair_, Tin-Tin. You're shutting me out and you won't even tell me why!"

_That_ got her attention. "Have you been forgetting things again?" Her hands flew up to her mouth. "Oh God, Alan why didn't you tell me?"

He could have made any number of pointed comments about her being persona non grata lately, but she didn't deserve that. Not when he'd worried her needlessly about something so serious. "I'm okay, it's not – I mean my memory's fine, is just –" He sighed. "I just miss you, yeah? I don't want things to be like this. It's like … like you're mad at me but won't tell me why. So please, just tell me what to do and I'll fix it."

She was quiet for several moments, her face hidden behind a curtain of shiny black hair. The sound of Virgil's piano came tinkling through the open double doors and Alan wished he could hear what Tin-Tin was thinking as clearly as he could hear his brother's music.

He was just about to break the tense silence when she let her legs fall over the edge of the sunlounger and turned to face him, so that their knees were almost touching. "I'm sorry for snapping," she said softly, reaching out and taking his hands in hers. "And for – for avoiding you. It's not you, it's just – it's just that I'm really busy with work right now and with the mission in Africa being so tough …"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Alan offered, figuring that if it worked for Doctor Tomass, it might work for him too.

"What? No – no, I just – it was hard, okay? People's lives were ruined. It was a real mess." She looked down at their linked hands. "I don't really want to think about, to be honest."

"Oh yeah, sure. But you know, if you do, I'm pretty much an expert at this whole talking/listening thing now."

She actually smiled then, her whole face lighting up for one shining second and her body language relaxing. "You're sweet."

"I guess I can live with that. Though, just for future reference, "manly" might be a more appropriate one to use in front of my brothers."

She laughed and reached up to touch his cheek, fingers stroking the skin. "I'll try and remember that," she breathed, before leaning in and kissing him gently. It was a brief kiss, more of a brushing of lips than anything else, but it was the most contact they'd had in days and Alan drank it in, pulling her against him and deepening the kiss. She moaned against his lips as he ran his fingers across the bare skin of her back. When he reached for the tie of her top, she pushed him away gently. "Not now, Alan," she scolded gently.

"But later?" he asked wickedly.

She blushed, pressing her hands against her cheeks. He laughed, loving how her dark skin filled with colour. "So I guess this mean I haven't pissed you off somehow?"

"You haven't done anything wrong." Her gaze dropped again and her voice softened. "I'm … I'm sorry I made you think that."

"Great. So I'll be seeing more of you from now on? Cos you know, I'm feeling kind of deserted here."

A shadow passed over Tin-Tin's face. "I'll do my best, but it'll depend on work, you know that."

That didn't sound particularly convincing. Alan waited but she didn't seem inclined to offer anything more. "You've got a lot going on, huh?" he observed.

Tin-Tin shrugged, her loose hair falling over her shoulders and down her back. "It's okay."

She wasn't giving anything away. "Must be tough with Gordon and Scott going AWOL though. More work for the rest of you."

"We get by."

"Speaking of my partner in crime, any word on Lady P's mystery man?"

All of the ease drained out of Tin-Tin and she sat upright so suddenly that she almost overbalanced. "What do you mean?"

He'd surprised her; that was obvious. But what he hadn't expected was the expression on her face – she looked almost afraid by his question. "Well, Scott and Gordon have gone to the UK to help find someone for Lady P, right?" he said slowly, watching her face closely. "And I know that's what you were discussing in the debrief. So what's the connection?"

Yeah, she was definitely afraid of something. But what? All he'd done was ask a random question about something that he'd assumed was general knowledge on the island – at least among those currently active members of the Thunderbirds. What was it about Lady Penelope's investigation that would make Tin-Tin react like that?

"Gordon said you saw a suspicious guy at the African fire …" Alan continued, testing the waters. "Is it the same guy? Are MI5 after him or something?"

She bent down and retrieved her laptop, rubbing a hand across the smooth white surface. Alan got the feeling she was trying to busy herself so that she wouldn't have to face him.

"Tin-Tin?" He reached out and caught her arm. She was so stiff; for one moment, he thought she was going to pull away. Then she relaxed against his grip. "I'm not sure about the guy," she said finally. "Your father has been managing things."

Well that was … weird. And kind of illogical, if what Alan had overheard in the debriefing was true. "But didn't you, like, _see_ the guy? Why aren't you in England?"

"I've had other work to do," Tin-Tin said quickly, pulling her arm free and standing up. "Look, Alan, I'm sorry but I've really got to get this work done today …" She glanced over her shoulder at the villa.

Alan scrambled upright. "Wait a sec, you're leaving again? But we've barely seen each other all week! Is this about the guy from the fire? Am I not supposed to ask about him or something? What's going on Tin-Tin?"

Frustration made his voice louder than he'd intended; Virgil's piano music jarred to a halt and a bird squawked derisively in a nearby tree. Tin-Tin stood rigid in front of him, the laptop held against her chest like a shield. When she met his angry gaze, a jolt shot up Alan's spine. She looked so utterly miserable that he just wanted to cradle her in his arms and find out what was wrong.

"What is it?" he murmured, taking a half step towards her. "You can tell me anything."

She shook her head slowly. "I can't tell you this," she whispered back.

Before Alan could press anything further, a voice interrupted them from the lounge.

"Alright guys?"

It was Virgil. He was leaning out of the lounge doorway, shading his eyes against the bright sunlight, dressed only in what looked like his pyjama bottoms. Had he been disturbed by their argument, Alan wondered, or the subject matter?

"We're good thanks, Virg," Alan said shortly.

His brother didn't take the hint. He wasn't even looking at Alan; his eyes were firmly fixed on Tin-Tin.

"Tin-Tin? Your dad's looking for you," he said after a pause.

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

They were still staring at each other. And there was such tension there; it was like they were having a conversation without actually framing any words. Alan looked back and forth between the two, fascinated.

"Did he, uh, want to see me now?" Tin-Tin asked hesitantly.

"It seemed pretty urgent."

"I guess I'll go then …" She drew herself up and turned to Alan. "See you later?"

She didn't even wait for a reply, but pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and then darted up towards the house. Virgil stepped back to let her pass and then followed her inside, closing the sliding door behind him.

Mind racing, Alan forced himself to wait for a full minute. Then he followed them.

* * *

><p>They hadn't gone far. Obviously content with the fact that he would stay out by the pool like a good little boy, they weren't worried about being overheard and he found them outside the entrance to the silos. Kyrano's room was on the other side of the house completely; Alan smiled grimly as the lie fell apart and hugged the wall as he inched closer.<p>

Tin-Tin was standing with her back to him, the laptop still cradled against her chest. Virgil was facing the silo entrance and he didn't look happy.

" – risk it, you know that."

"I wasn't going to tell him."

"Tin-Tin – "

"I wasn't! He just caught me off guard – I didn't expect him to be up so early and I _definitely_ didn't expect him to ask me about what Gordon and Scott are doing, okay? I wasn't even sure he knew where they'd gone, or why. With being so focused on his recovery …"

"Well we obviously can't take the chance any longer." Virgil sighed, his posture relaxing. "Sorry. I didn't mean –"

"I know." Tin-Tin reached out and touched his arm. "I'm sorry, I should have been more careful."

Virgil shrugged. "It's hard, I get it. Can't say I'm happy about it myself, but –"

"Orders are orders."

"Orders are orders," he agreed. "And it'll be over soon. Gordon and Scott are at the university right now. So … so just watch yourself till then, yeah?"

"I'll try."

"You need to do better than that," Virgil warned. He shook his head, casting his eyes up towards the ceiling. "God, this is why we didn't want you knowing in the first place …"

"What, I'm the weak link?" Tin-Tin bristled.

"No, I didn't mean –"

"I am, you know," she admitted suddenly, sounding subdued. "I thought – I thought that I could just avoid him, you know until it's all over. But he's started to notice and asking all those questions … Just looking at him makes me feel _so _guilty, did you know that? But avoiding him is just making it worse, so … what am I supposed to do?"

It was all Alan could do to stop himself jumping out and saying, "How about telling me the truth about what the hell is going on here?" As tempting as it was, he knew it was also completely pointless. If he confronted Tin-Tin now, with Virgil looming over her shoulder like a prison guard, he'd get nothing but half-truths and excuses.

One thing this whole little expedition had proved: Tin-Tin had been right. This had nothing to do with their relationship and everything to do with executive orders from on high, the African mission and whatever Gordon and Scott were doing in England.

Which meant … what exactly? And more importantly, why keep it from him? Was this just another example of his dad's obsession with keeping him away from all things IR until he was fully fit? Maybe if Jeff just bothered to ask him about his latest session with Doctor Makura, then he'd realise that all of this was futile anyway. Alan was both physically and mentally healthy; he was going to re-join IR whether his dad, or Gordon or his entire family wanted it or not.

"Do you think some time away from here would help?" Virgil was saying when Alan turned his attention back to the conversation.

"What, like a holiday?" Tin-Tin frowned and then shook her head. "It's not possible."

"But if Alan's becoming suspicious …"

"W-what's that a-about Alan?"

Fermat, coming up from the silos with a clatter. Another early bird. He'd obviously been moving quickly because he was struggling for breath and his glasses were in serious danger of slipping off the end of his nose.

"He knows," Tin-Tin told him miserably.

"He doesn't know," Virgil argued. "He's just … asking questions."

Fermat looked back and forth between them, his face a picture of concern. "W-What are we g-going to d-do?"

It shouldn't have come as much of a surprise that Fermat was as firmly in the middle of this as well, but somehow it did. And it hurt, knowing that they were all in on the conspiracy, whatever it was. That they'd all been effectively lying to his face. How long had this been going on?"

"I'll speak to my dad. He needs to know how curious Alan's getting."

"What's he going to say, just lie to him some more?" Tin-Tin flared. "I won't. I won't do it!"

"Tin-Tin, I know how you feel."

"No you don't! You can't!"

"You think this is easy for me? For any of us?" Virgil demanded, folding his arms across his chest. "We don't do it because we _want _to, Tin-Tin, we do it because it's needed. I thought you understood that."

She glared at him, hands balling into fists. For a second, Alan thought she was going to strike him.

"You need to remember who we're doing this for," Virgil added pointedly. "You're under _orders_."

Tin-Tin's eyes filled with tears and then she spun on her heel and stalked off – thankfully in the opposite direction.

Fermat and Virgil watched her go. As soon as she'd rounded the corner, Virgil groaned and slumped back against the wall. "I'm a bastard. Oh yeah, I'm going straight to hell."

"Sh-she's not taking this w-w-well," Fermat murmured, still looking after his friend.

"Are any of us?" Virgil asked rhetorically. "Trust Alan to be a nosy little git. I thought he'd get suspicious, but not this quickly." He sighed and ran one hand through his hair. "I'm going to have to talk to Dad about this. We need to get Alan away from the island."

"M-Mr Tracy w-won't like th-that."

"Don't see that he has much of a choice."

"Alan won't li-like it either."

"Yeah well, what he doesn't know can't hurt him." Virgil used his shoulders to push himself away from the wall. "Oh, uh, did you want something?"

Fermat blinked at him. "You came barrelling out of the silos …" Virgil continued, waving his hand in the direction of the open doorway.

"Oh, r-right! Yes, my dad n-needs to talk to y-you. He's b-b-been working on the c-cameras and he'd like your i-in-in _opinion_."

"He's improving them? Why? We already have Wilcox on film. That should be enough for the authorities."

Fermat shrugged. "S-sometimes even I-I don't understand my – my dad. He was say-saying something about a pro-proto-prototype."

Virgil smiled half-heartedly. "Guess we'd better check it out. Can I at least put a shirt on first?" Fermat started spluttering an answer as the two disappeared back into the silos.

Alan remained where he was, seething. They were going to send him away, _again_? Because he'd seen through the truly pathetic attempts at hiding that something major was going on with IR? The idea that his dad was that against him rejoining IR made him feel sick. It was _his _decision, dammit! Not Jeff's, not Virgil's, not anybody else's – _his_. God, why was his opinion never good enough for them?

Well they couldn't argue with Doctor Makura – she'd given him the all clear. There was no good reason why he couldn't rejoin IR right this second. The more he thought about it, the more Alan liked that decision. Yeah, he should just take the situation in hand and go and confront his dad directly. Lay everything out in front of him and let Jeff come to the only possible conclusion – that Alan was fit and ready for action. That would show all of them.

As if fate was backing him up, the warning klaxon chose that moment to blare into life, making him jump. After his pulse had returned to normal speed, Alan started to smile. He'd been handed the perfect opportunity on a plate. With Gordon and Scott away, International Rescue was down to three active members – well, four if you counted John. There was no way his dad was going to be able to keep him out now, not with lives at stake.


	10. Chapter Ten: All's Fair in Love and War

**Chapter Ten: All's Fair in Love and War**

Scott stirred sugar into his coffee, watching the little white stick swim through the dark liquid. Gordon had dragged him here, to the local campus coffee bar, as soon as he'd admitted the truth about Kate. Truthfully, Scott hadn't put up much of a fight; he was too drained by everything that had happened. Hearing the truth from Kate's lips, that she knew the man who had almost killed his little brother … It was something that had been at the back of his mind since learning of the Cambridge connection. An irritating little niggle that he refused to believe, but just couldn't quite dismiss. It had all just been too much of a coincidence – Kate, Cambridge, Physics. Even before he'd stormed into Kate's office, he'd already known what her answer was going to be.

Gordon shifted opposite him, his metal chair scraping across the floor. His brother had been conspicuously silent since Scott's revelation; aside from leading them here and ordering the drinks, he hadn't said a word. Scott wondered what he was thinking. Something negative, no doubt. Trust Gordon to find a way to twist everything to make Scott the bad guy.

Gordon cleared his throat. Scott looked up from his coffee, bracing himself for the onslaught.

"So your English girlfriend is a Physics professor." Gordon tapped his fingers against the tabletop. "Well, didn't see that one coming. I imagined you more with a high-powered businesswoman, or maybe a pilot."

Scott stared at him, wondering if he'd misheard. Of all the reactions Gordon could have had – "Wait, you knew about Kate?" he blurted.

Gordon shrugged. "I knew you had an English girlfriend. That's about it."

Despite everything, Scott couldn't help being impressed by his brother's talent for ferreting out secrets. Impressed and irritated – why couldn't Gordon ever mind his own business?

"So how long have you guys been together?"

The irritation was growing; warping back into the anger he'd felt in Kate's office. Why did Gordon have to be here for this humiliation? Why was he asking all this questions? _Why did Kate Oliver have to be connected to Tom Wilcox?_

Scott twisted the stirring stick with vicious abandon, slopping coffee down the side of the styrofoam cup. He cursed as the hot liquid splashed onto his hand. Gordon held a napkin out wordlessly and Scott snatched it up.

"I guess casual isn't going to work, huh?" Gordon said after a moment. "Okay then, how about some plain facts: how do you know her, does she know about IR and what's her connection to Richard Wilcox?"

His curt tone got Scott's back up. "Why should I have to answer to you?"

"You don't."

"Good."

Gordon sipped his coffee. "You do have to answer to Alan though."

"Are you _trying_ to get me to punch you?" Scott snarled.

"No. Believe it or not, I like my face the way it is." Gordon leaned forward. "I'm trying to get you to talk to me, Scott. You do this whole big reveal thing and I'm just trying to find out what the hell it means for us. What it means for Alan. So get your damn priorities straight!"

Scott looked down at his cup. His restless fingers tore a strip off the foam and he watched as it disintegrated. As tempting as it was to hang onto his anger, to nurse the grudge he had against Gordon, he just couldn't justify it right now. There really were no room for personal feelings when it came to getting the guy who'd hurt Alan.

"We've been together for two years," he admitted grudgingly, pushing his cup away to stop himself from tearing it into pieces.

Gordon whistled through his teeth. That was obviously one little fact he hadn't known. "Does she know about IR?" he asked.

Scott shook his head. "I was thinking about telling her … guess that's kind of a moot point now."

Gordon was silent for a moment. "What did she say about Wilcox?"

"That they were friends. I didn't get much more before – " _Before I lost my temper_ "- she stormed out."

Thankfully Gordon resisted the urge to make any smart-ass comments about that. He just looked thoughtful. "Pretty big coincidence. Your girlfriend knowing our bomber, I mean."

"Yeah, that thought had already occurred to me."

"You think she was a plant?"

"For two years?" Scott asked incredulously. Gordon held his gaze for a moment and then Scott relented with a sigh. "Yeah, I know, it's happened before. Do you think I haven't been asking myself that same question?"

"So do you? Think she was a plant?"

"No. I don't know. Jesus, Gordon, I don't know anything!" Scott ran his hands through his hair. "We've been together for two years. _Two years._ And now I find out that she – What if she _is_ connected to Wilcox? What if this whole thing was just a set-up to get close to IR?" His voice dropped down to an agonised whisper. "What if I could have stopped Alan getting hurt?"

"Hey, man, c'mon – you can't think like that."

"I can't _not_ think like that. It's just going round and around in my head – you know I was considering bringing her to the island to meet Dad? A free ticket right into the heart of International Rescue."

Gordon became very still. "You were gonna introduce her to Dad?"

Scott laughed bitterly. "Maybe. Probably. Ironic, huh?"

Gordon played with the edge of his coffee cup. "So it was … serious?"

Serious? Did that describe his relationship with Kate? Maybe. Two years was a long time, and even though they'd only been able to hook up every couple of months, there'd been something about Kate Oliver that had caught Scott's eye. They'd met randomly, at a conference in London that he'd been intending on behalf of Tracy Industries. He'd asked her out, she'd accepted and two years later they'd been talking about making things more permanent.

"Yeah, it was serious."

It felt weird, sitting here and so calmly discussing his relationship with Gordon of all people. This was the kind of thing he'd sometimes discuss with Virgil, and occasionally John, but definitely not with Gordon. Not even when they weren't in the middle of their own private World War III. But sitting in that coffee shop, trying to process everything that had just happened, Scott was ridiculously glad for Gordon's presence, as irritating as it sometimes was. The thought of going through all of this alone … "Do you think … Wilcox aside, did she ever do anything to make you suspect her?" Gordon asked after a pause.

"You mean do I think she knows about IR? No. I was careful and she – she was content. She knew I worked for Dad and that was enough for her." Scott checked himself. "That _seemed_ enough for her. Now – God now I just don't know."

"She could be totally innocent in all this," Gordon suggested. "She could have nothing to do with Wilcox beyond being his colleague way back when. Or maybe Wilcox has been using her without her knowledge – you ever think of that?" He smiled briefly. "Might mean some major grovelling from you, of course. You kinda flipped out on her."

"If that's true, it's one hell of a coincidence."

Gordon shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm an optimist."

Scott gave a weak smile as Gordon finished off his coffee in one big gulp.

"You know …" he said when he'd swallowed. "You're going to have to talk to her again."

"Not today."

"Scott, we need to know what she knows."

"And we will. Just not today."

Gordon raised his eyebrows. "Dad won't be happy with that."

"Dad can shove it," Scott said fiercely. "I never ask for anything in my personal life – he can give me one day."

Gordon stared at his brother for a moment and then started to laugh. "Man, I never thought I'd hear you say something like that!"

Scott frowned at him. "I'm glad you find it so amusing."

"You have no idea!"

"Gordon will you knock it off? I really don't have the energy for this right now."

"Defying Dad…" Gordon grinned. "Welcome to the club."

Something about his brother's reaction rankled and Scott found himself asking, "It's _that_ surprising?"

Gordon shrugged. "Kinda. Well, okay, _totally_."

_Really_? "Why?"

Gordon looked down at the table and began tracing a pattern with his finger. "Well… you know. The whole mini-Dad thing you've got going on."

"_What_?"

"You always toe the company line. Support Dad one hundred percent in every decision he makes."

"I'm not that bad," Scott argued. "I have a mind of my own."

"Um, yeah, you kind of are. Sometimes it's like you're his clone or something."

"I'm like his… what, because I follow orders? C'mon, Gordon, he's our commander. You've served – you know what that means. When we're out there in the field, what Dad says goes, end of."

"I'm not just talking about IR."

"Then…?"

Gordon wouldn't meet his eyes. "Life."

"I support Dad in life," Scott repeated slowly. "What's that even mean?"

"You support all the warped family values that have been bred into us from birth. Chin up. Smile through the pain. Never show weakness." Gordon swiped his hand across the pattern he'd been drawing, as if brushing it away. "God forbid we should actually _talk_ about our problems; no, far better to just bottle everything up or ship us off so we don't have to deal with them at all."

It was all coming a bit too out of the left field for Scott, but as he ran his brother's words over in his head, a glimmer of understanding dawned. "This isn't about me, it's about Alan," he realised. "You're mad about what happened to him and you need someone to blame –"

"He was walking around with a skull fracture, _bleeding in his brain_, but he didn't say anything! Why didn't he say anything? Oh yeah, because he was too busy acting like the perfect Tracy, which was great until it nearly killed him," Gordon hissed from between white lips. "What kind of screwed up family raises their sons to think like that? Sometimes… it just makes me sick."

Scott could feel his own anger responding to Gordon's and he pulled it back in with difficulty. "Alan could have come to any of us and he knew that. I don't know why he didn't, but –"

"You really believe that, don't you?" Gordon snorted. "Dad Mark Two take a bow. You're both as blind as each other."

"That's enough," Scott snapped. "Think what you like, Gordon – you usually do – but I've always been there for Alan. I helped raise him, for God's sake!"

"Oh, yeah, you're just Captain Caring. So much so you only visited Alan in hospital _once_." Gordon eyes burned into Scott's face. "Explain that one, Scotty, 'cause it sure will be interesting to hear your excuse."

Scott blanched. "I was busy."

"Don't give me that crap!" Gordon shot back scornfully. "You weren't busy. You were – well I don't actually know what you were, but you sure as hell weren't _busy_."

"Keep your voice down! You think IR just ran itself? Grow up, Gordon. Dad couldn't see anything beyond Alan and someone had to take responsibility for the company. I'm the oldest; I'm the field commander – it was my responsibility."

"And what about your responsibility to Alan?" Gordon demanded. "Damn it Scott, he's only nineteen and he was almost killed. He should never have been put in that position in the first place."

"Alan chose this life as much as we did. No one forced him and he knew the risks."

"Chose?" Gordon's laugh was wild. Dangerous. "You think any of us _chose_ this?"

Scott made an effort to lower his voice. "If you want to leave IR, then no one's stopping you."

Gordon shook his head. "You just don't get it, do you? I'm not saying I want to leave and I'm not saying Alan wants to either."

"Then what are you saying?" Scott demanded, frustrated.

"That we should have had, I don't know, _other options_ or something. Safer options. Options that wouldn't have put us in the firing line of a madman."

"We had other options –"

"God, are you really that – of course we didn't! None of us did, and Alan most of all. Not when Dad shipped him off to Wharton's and not when he came back to join IR. All the rules and pressure and expectations – we mapped out his future before he'd even taken his first step. He never had a chance."

And just like, all the fight faded out of his brother. Gordon toyed with his empty coffee cup and wouldn't meet Scott's eyes. "He never had a chance. We should have protected him and we failed. And that's – that's on Dad. And that's on you. And that… that's on me too."  
>Hearing it laid out like that, so simply and plainly, took all the fight out of Scott too. He slumped back into his discarded chair and rested his head in his hands for a few moments. Everything Gordon had said, about the anger and the guilt and the fear, matched Scott's own feelings point for point. So this was what all their arguing had been about. Part of him wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but, like his brother, he was just too damn tired.<p>

"Gordon," he said finally, words muffled by his hands, "do you _really_ think you have a monopoly on regret? On guilt? Get in line, because I'm at the head of the queue."

Gordon's chair squeaked, as if he had shifted his weight, but he didn't say anything.

"All this time you were blaming me, guess what? I was too. I was Field Commander on that mission, Gordon. I should have been more careful. But more than that, seeing Alan so young and small in that hospital bed… for the first time it made me wonder if the price we pay for IR is too high. So yeah, I hid behind my work and didn't visit him, because just looking at Alan reminded me how close we'd come to losing him and how much I'd let him down, and that terrified me. I couldn't face it."

There was a long silence, broken only by the murmuring of conversation from the coffee shop staff at the counter. Scott's gaze wandered past his brother and out into the campus beyond the café. It was quiet, almost peaceful out there. A last few students hurried past, intent on some lecture or running to catch a bus and the sun was beginning to disappear behind the buildings to the west. It was late; their dad would be wondering why they hadn't checked in yet.

"Wow," Gordon said at length.

Scott arched a sardonic eyebrow. "Not what you were expecting?"

"Er – no, not really. But that's also the most you've said to me in over six months, so I was kinda surprised by that as well."

The joke, weak as it was, shattered the tension and Scott found himself smiling at his brother for the first time since Alan's accident. Gordon brushed strands of copper hair back from his forehead, looking sheepish. "I never realised you felt that bad about Alan."

"Yeah well," Scott shrugged. "I never realised how my actions were affecting you, so I guess we're even. And when we get a spare moment, you should really talk to Dad about some of the stuff you said. It… well a lot of it made far too much sense."

Gordon regarded him thoughtfully and then held out his hand. "It's a deal."

Scott shook the proffered hand without hesitation. His relationship with Gordon still had a way to go before it was back to normal, but with life as it was, one less drama would be a welcome relief.

"And I'm sorry," Gordon added awkwardly. "I could have looked at things from your perspective more."

"We both should. Just forget it."

"So … should we hug now?"

Scott pushed his brother away, fighting the urge to laugh. He'd forgotten how much fun Gordon could be – his wicked sense of humour never failed to lighten the tensest situations. While Scott often lamented its misplaced use on missions, he was oddly grateful for it now.

"You know, I'm kinda surprised you didn't get madder," Gordon confessed, swiping up his coffee cup and throwing it at the nearest trashcan. It hit the rim and bounced onto floor. Gordon pulled a face. "I definitely imagined more punching when we finally had this out."

"Let's just say I've got other things on my mind right now." Scott stood up and stretched. He felt calmer now, but his muscles were still bunched and tense.

"Good point," Gordon agreed, collecting the empty cup from the floor and dropping it into the trashcan. "Still, it's kind of an anti-climax."

"What, you want me to punch you?"

Gordon seemed to almost consider it for a moment and then shrugged. "Nah, I think we've had all the excitement we can handle for one day."

He waved to the cashier as they left the café and then started clowning around on the steps aside, jumping up and down like a five-year old. It was behaviour that had driven Scott to distraction in the past – particularly when they'd been fighting with each other – but now he actually found himself smiling wryly at his brother's antics. Watching Gordon then, it was the first time he was glad it was his water-loving brother who'd accompanied him on this trip. John and Virgil, no matter how much closer he was to them, would have asked the awkward questions; pressed him about his relationship with Kate until he snapped. Alan would have just said all the wrong things and probably driven Scott to distraction. But Gordon? He didn't pry, not really. And he didn't push. He just made light of everything. Turning life into one big joke was his coping mechanism and just right now, Scott could really get on board with that.

As Gordon reached the last step, he broke back out of his little world of fun and his expression became a touch more serious. "So, uh, now that we're friends again … can I ask what happens next?"

What happened next was not something Scott wanted to dwell on. He wanted to follow Gordon off into escapism, leave the world and its messes behind. Unfortunately as the eldest son of Jeff Tracy and Field Commander of International Rescue he didn't have that luxury. It was all about the strategy, the plan and the end game. And in this case, that meant one thing.

He squared his shoulders. "Now we get some answers from my girlfriend."

"You sure you're ready for that?" Gordon asked as they started heading back towards the car.

"Not like I have much of a choice."

"We could put it off until tomorrow. You know that phrase? Why do today what you can put off –"

" – to tomorrow, yeah I know the phrase."

"So?"

"So it's not going to get any easier is it?"

"Well, no. But she might be a bit less pissed at you tomorrow – jeez you're walking fast. What's the hurry?"

Scott stopped walking. "Dad's gonna want a report soon. What am I supposed to tell him? That I know exactly who could give us more information about Wilcox, but I'm too scared to go and confront her because, oh yeah, I've been shagging her for the last two years?"

It exploded out of him with more force than he'd intended and Gordon actually took a step backwards. They stared at each other for a moment; Gordon guarded, Scott struggling to control his anger.

"You know maybe you should ask Alan for his psychologist's number," Gordon mused finally.

Well _that_ was an unexpected response. Scott frowned at him. "What?"

"Well you're kinda rivalling old Al in the mentally screwed up stakes right now and hey, if it doesn't work out then you could always ask her out. She's cute, ask Alan." He paused, looking thoughtfully. "Though you _would_ have to develop a taste for older women."

Scott stared at him, baffled. "You're insane."

"I'm thinking outside the box," Gordon countered. "You're obviously messed up about this Kate stuff – and hey, who wouldn't be – but you don't want to admit it so you're on the verge of pulling a typical Scott –"

A typical Scott?

" – and acting like it doesn't matter when really, it's got you completely turned around. So all I'm saying is that maybe you should take a leaf out of Al's book before things get any worse."

"And see a psychologist," Scott said flatly.

"See a psychologist, jump off a bridge, get smashed – whatever. Just, you don't always have to be Captain Stoic about everything. And if you need a night off to get everything straight in your head, then take it. Screw Dad."

_Captain Stoic_? "Just how many nicknames do you have for me anyway?" he demanded half-heartedly.

Gordon glanced at his watch. "More than we've got time for now. So what do you say, man? Wanna blow of some steam tonight?"

It was tempting. It was _really_ tempting.

"C'mon, Scott – live a little! Tell you what, I'll take you out tonight, okay? We'll hook up with some pretty English girls and you'll forget all about what's her name. C'mon, we're playing for the same team again now, the air's been cleared and it's all sunbeams and roses yada yada yada … let's celebrate!" He adopted a pious expression. "I even think Dad would approve under the circumstances. After all, this trip together _was_ his idea."

Scott liked to think he would have said yes if his watch hadn't chosen that moment to start chiming like a grandfather clock. He looked down at the display and got a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"It's Dad."

"Great. Big Brother checking up on us again," Gordon muttered sarcastically. "Don't answer it."

Scott ignored him, raising his wrist and touching a button on the side of his watch. The display dissolved into a picture of his father's face. He looked like he was sitting in his office. "Hey, Dad."

"_We've had a call-out_," Jeff said without preamble.

"A rescue?" Gordon exclaimed, grabbing hold of Scott's wrist and making the screen shake. "Where?"

"Is it Wilcox?" Scott wanted to know. "Do you need us to return now?"

"_It's an earthquake in New Zealand. We don't suspect Wilcox's involvement – John reports that there've been tremors in that area for the last few days_."

"Well that's something," Gordon murmured.

"Do you need us back, Dad?" Scott repeated his question.

Jeff hesitated for a second and then shook his head. "_Your job's of equal importance right now. Just find Wilcox as quickly as you can._"

"FAB. I'll be in touch when we have more news."

Gordon started. "Wait, what about –"

"_Understood. Tracy Island out._"

The screen dissolved as Jeff cut the connection.

Gordon immediately threw up his hands; gravel crunching under his feet as he spun around. "Has he lost his mind? With you and me away from the island, that leaves Virg, Fermat and Tin-Tin as the only land-based members of International Rescue! What's he gonna do? Suit up Onaha and Kyrano?"

"He must have a plan."

"When does he not?" Gordon snorted derisively. "Nice of him to share it."

"Just focus on Wilcox."

"Yeah, yeah." Gordon sighed. "Guess the party's on hold, huh?"

"Yep."

"Typical. You know, I reckon he has a sixth sense for this kind of thing. The moment one of us even thinks the world 'fun', his Dad-radar locks on." Gordon scuffed his foot across the ground. "So we're going to see Kate right now?"

"Yeah."

"Sucks."

_Yeah_, Scott thought.

"Hey man?"

Scott raised his head slowly.

"I'm sorry, you know."

"Didn't we already go through this?"

"I meant about Kate. I don't think I said it before, but… I am."

_Me too_, Scott thought. _Me too_.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Learning to Fly Again

**A/N: **I stumbled across this story on my hard drive recently and realised there were some finished chapters I'd never posted, so I figured I might as well put them up. The story still isn't finished, but maybe posting these chapters will give me the incentive to start working on it again. We'll see.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: Learning to Fly Again<strong>

Despite the pressing issue of the rescue, Jeff Tracy couldn't help noticing the mulish expression on his youngest's face as he joined the rest of them in the command centre. Alan didn't say anything; he just leant against the wall at the back of the room with his arms folded across his chest, but it was impossible to ignore his presence. It was the first time Alan had been part of a briefing for months – ever since his abortive attempt to rejoin IR, he'd stepped back, much to Jeff's relief. That he was actually awake at this time of the morning and here now suggested that things were about to come to a head once again. Alan was nothing if not persistent, although Jeff had to despair over his son's sense of timing.

He stood up and came around the front of his desk. "Alright, I'll keep this brief because we've got a lot to do. At approximately seven fifty-three this morning, local time, a magnitude 6.7 earthquake struck the town of Gisborne, on the eastern tip of New Zealand's Northern Isle." He paused to let them take that in. "The local authorities are reporting extensive structural damage, particularly to the parts of the city closest to the coastline. After making their initial assessment, they're now requesting our help in securing some of the larger structures and locating and rescuing any trapped townsfolk."

If Gordon had been there, he would have made some glib comment about playing "search and rescue" – probably earning him a swift verbal lashing from Scott given the current tension between them. As it was, Fermat merely looked nervous, Tin-Tin was frowning and Alan remained silent. It was almost a welcome relief and reaffirmed Jeff's belief that he'd done the right thing in sending his quarrelling sons to England, despite the current situation.

Virgil leaned forward, hands on his knees. "Have there been any casualties?"

Jeff glanced at the computer screen, indicating that John should field this particular question. "_The timing of the quake worked in our favour_," his blond-haired son reported."_Most people were still at home and off the streets, so early reports suggest no casualties so far_, _although there are ten or so people unaccounted for. Parts of a small shopping mall in the south of the city have collapsed – that's where most of the rescue efforts are being focused._"

"And where we'll be heading," Jeff added.

"What about aftershocks?" Tin-Tin wanted to know. Beside her, Fermat nodded, his glasses slipping down his nose.

"_None that have registered,_" John said. "_That's part of the reason the authorities didn't contact us straight away – they wanted to be sure the area had stabilised first. Anyway, I'm monitoring the situation so I'll let you know if anything changes_."

"Thanks John." Jeff turned back to the room. "Right, any questions? No? Then I want everyone suited up and ready to go in five. John will give you coordinates when we're in the air. Virgil –" He waited until he had his son's attention "– I want you, Tin-Tin and Fermat in Thunderbird 2. Load up the Mole – I hope we won't need it but it's better to be cautious."

"FAB."

"I'll be taking Thunderbird 1 and manning Mobile Control for the duration of the rescue."

Virgil paused, half-in and half-out of his chair, his surprise evident. "You're not collecting Gordon and Scott?"

Jeff shook his head. "The authorities need our equipment more than they need our personnel. I've informed your brothers of the rescue and if our situation changes then it may become prudent for them to join us. Until then, they're on the other side of the world and they have their own work to do. Besides, it's about time this old man got some exercise."

Virgil looked like he wanted to argue, but one glance at their silent spectator seemed to change his mind. He let his breath out and nodded, mouth tilting up into a wry smile. "Maybe you can teach the youngsters some tricks."

"Or you could have company."

Alan pushed away from the wall and strode into the middle of the room. He moved easily, legs showing no signs of the weakness that had dogged them for so many months.

Mindful of the expression on his face, Jeff kept his voice level. "Alan, you're not an active member of International Rescue at the moment. Now I'm willing to discuss – to _discuss_ this later, but right now we don't have time."

"Exactly. So take me with you." Alan folded his arms across his chest. "Don't tell me one more pair of hands wouldn't help – hell, it might even mean the difference between saving a life and losing it."

He sounded so cool, so confident – Jeff didn't quite know what to make of it. He was used to Alan blowing up in an explosion of incandescent rage – _that_ Alan he knew how to cope with. But this Alan with his calm, direct gaze and his pitilessly accurate words … where was this all coming from?

If he'd had the luxury of time, Jeff might have pursued things. As it was, there was a town full of people who didn't have time for Alan's whims today. "You're off-duty for good reason. And you're going to stay there. If you absolutely have to get involved then you can help Brains here in the Command Centre. But not in the field. Is that understood?"

Alan didn't flinch. "Doctor Makura's given me the all clear. So you're out of excuses."

There weren't many times in life when Jeff Tracy was surprised. This was one of them. Doctor Makura had given Alan the all clear? When? And why hadn't he known? Why hadn't Alan told him? Had he been storing up the news, ready to use it against Jeff? To manipulate him?

His anger flashed out before he could stop it. "Why wasn't I informed of this?"

Alan drew himself up, but instead of erupting he simply shrugged. "Phone her if you don't believe me."

Would Alan lie … no, not about something this serious. Not even to get back into International Rescue. But why hadn't his son told him?

"_Dad_?"

Startled, Jeff looked up. The others were all still standing there, clearly embarrassed about being caught up in the middle of what was creeping uncomfortably close to an argument. But none of them had spoken; it took Jeff a moment to realise that there was one more person who'd been privy to the conversation.

John was sitting back in his chair, for all the world like he was kicking back watching sports rather than single-handedly monitoring activity for an entire space station. It was a deception that had served him well in life, constantly leading people to underestimate the quiet young man, which was just how John liked it.

"_Can I have a word?_"

The "in private" was unspoken but impossible to miss and coming from John, Jeff didn't even think about arguing. He nodded to Virgil, who led Tin-Tin and Fermat out of the room and towards the silos. Brains made himself equally scarce, which only left Alan, still standing defiantly in the middle of the command centre.

"Wait outside," Jeff ordered shortly. Alan held his gaze for a moment longer and then turned on his heel and stalked outside, closing the door behind him. Jeff turned back to his space-bound son. "This had better be good, John."

"_I think you should let Alan join the rescue_," John said without preamble.

Jeff considered his son for a long moment. "Why?" he asked finally.

"_Because Alan's right and another pair of hands couldn't hurt. Because this is an earthquake and nothing to do with Wilcox. But mainly because no matter how much you might want to, you can't keep him from this forever._"

"But what about Wilcox?" Jeff demanded. "Until he's caught –"

"_Dad, it could be _months_ before Wilcox is caught. _Years _even, if he's clever. Are you really going to keep Alan out of IR for that long?_"

Jeff opened his mouth to argue but couldn't think of anything to say to that. In truth, he hadn't really thought things through, which was unusual for him, but given the circumstances not completely unexpected. He'd just assumed that he could forestall Alan until this whole mess was cleared up, at which point he'd sit his son down and calmly explain just what had happened. Whether he admitted the truth about what had caused the Welsh mine to collapse, he still hadn't decided. Given Alan's fragile state of mind recently that might be one truth his son could do without being burdened with.

But with Alan hovering right outside his office, and John's questions forcing the issue, it looked he was going to have to come to a decision sooner than he'd expected.

"I don't want to push him headlong into danger when he's only just recovered," Jeff admitted finally, running a hand over his face.

John's expression softened. "_None of us do. But you can't protect him forever, not unless you're going to ban him from International Rescue_."

Now _that _was an idea. Could he –

"_Alan would never forgive you for that_," John said quietly, clearly guessing where his thoughts had headed. "_It's as much a part of his life as it is ours_."

Jeff winced. John had always been good at delivering home truths, a trait he'd inherited from his mother. Right now it was one Jeff could have done without.

"_There's something else_," John added, but then paused.

"Well out with it then. Don't go coy on me now, John."

John smiled before sobering again. "_Well, I think he's getting suspicious_."

Jeff frowned. "Alan? He's spoken to you?"

"_Not to me. But Gordon mentioned something in passing that got me thinking – and I know Tin-Tin's been concerned._"

Jeff cursed under his breath. The feeling that everything was spiralling out of control was growing stronger by the moment and with the imminent rescue – "We always knew we were working on borrowed time," he muttered.

"_Alan might be a bit self-absorbed sometimes, but he's not stupid. He's going to work it out eventually; start asking questions_." John shifted his weight. "_None of us like lying to him. And some of us – well some of us aren't very good at it_."

He didn't name any names, but they all knew what Gordon and Tin-Tin in particular felt about the deception. The tension on Tracy Island since the latter had found out about Wilcox had been so strong he could almost taste it, like a lump in the back of his throat that he couldn't quite swallow.

"_Why not let him have this_," John continued. "_It'll get him off your back and won't do any harm – if you're worried about his fitness, then I don't know – stick him on Mobile Control or something. Just let him be involved_."

Jeff wanted to disagree; he really did. He wanted to come up with the perfect reason to keep Alan chained to Tracy Island until Wilcox was no longer a threat. But everywhere he looked, those reasons were sliding away. Alan was healthy now and certified by his doctor. They were shorthanded and despite what he'd said in the briefing, any extra hands would be a benefit. And this rescue had nothing to do with Wilcox – there was no chance that Alan would be able to stumble over the truth until they'd had time to deal with it. So really, Alan was right. He'd run out of excuses. He _could _order his son to stay behind just for the sake of it, but that wasn't likely to do any favours for their already fractious relationship. And judging by his mood, Alan wasn't going to back down without a fight.

"Tell the authorities that we'll be there in fifteen minutes," he ordered. John acknowledged the command with the barest hint of a smile and cut the connection between them.

Decision reluctantly made, Jeff strode across to the closed door of the command centre and yanked it open. Alan was sitting on the floor outside, his legs stretched out in front of him. He'd been massaging one of his thighs but stopped when he saw Jeff looming over him.

"Get changed. You're coming with me in Thunderbird 1."

* * *

><p>Being back in the co-pilot's seat of Thunderbird 1 brought with it a whole host of memories for Alan Tracy. Hard to believe that it had been over six months since he'd last sat here, last adjusted his uniform, last listened intently as John updated them on the situation at the site of the earthquake. He'd been training in the simulator – part of Tin-Tin's suggestion to prove his fitness to his father – but a computer program, no matter how advanced, could never live up to the real thing. The sights, the smells, the familiar roar of the engine; in some weird way, it was like coming home.<p>

But it was something else too – something Alan hadn't expected. As they'd lifted off from Tracy Island, his pulse had started to race. His hands were clammy and clasped together in his lap to stop them from shaking. He told himself it was just the usual anticipation before a rescue, but in truth it was much more than that.

It was fear. He was scared; there was no other explanation for the icy sensation that was crawling up his spine. Which was, quite frankly, ridiculous – he'd been after this for months, actively campaigning to rejoin IR. Now he had exactly what he'd wanted and gut was twisting so badly he was afraid he was going to throw up.

Doctor Tomass had mentioned something about this – that he might have an emotional reaction when he confronted the situation that had caused his injury – but he hadn't thought much of it at the time. It was just words. Wasn't it?

"Right, let's get a few things straight."

Alan jumped, pulling his attention back where it belonged. His dad wasn't looking at him, but out of the viewport where the New Zealand coastline was just peeking over the horizon. They hadn't spoken much since leaving the island, but the little that had passed between them had made it clear that Jeff wasn't happy with finding himself burdened with a partner.

His next words only confirmed that. "I don't agree with you being here. I think it's too soon and I want to speak to Doctor Makura myself before I consider making this a permanent arrangement. Are we clear?"

Alan nodded. When his father gave him a pointed look, he cleared his throat. "Yes, Sir."

"Added to that, we're damn sure gonna have a conversation about the way you spoke to me in my office. And don't think I'm going to accept the excuse that you were caught up in the moment of the rescue. There's a time and a place for discussions like that and you were _way_ of base on that one."

_Was I?_ Alan wondered, '_Cos it looks to me like I got just what I wanted. Maybe you're just pissed I'm crashing your little party_.

"Yes, Sir," he repeated dutifully.

Jeff seemed somewhat mollified by his quiet acceptance. "Okay, ground rules: you do exactly what I say. If I order you away from the rescue site, you do so without complaint. If I tell you to man Mobile Control, you do so without complaint. Is that understood?"

It was amazing how much Scott was like their dad. It could have been his eldest brother sitting there, reeling that list off. What did Jeff think they did on rescues? Made up rules on the spot and did what they wanted? No, they followed Scott's command. Jeff's would be no different.

He trotted out the standard acceptance and Jeff ploughed onwards. "Most importantly, if you're injured at all – in _any_ way, I don't care how small – you come and tell me immediately. I want no more of this self-assessment that you and your brothers seem so fond off. If the rescue in Wales taught us anything it's that you can never be too careful. If we'd identified your injury earlier –" He broke off and shook his head. "You come and tell me. Straight away."

_That_ was one agreement he didn't have to drag out of Alan. No matter what good intentions had been behind his actions back after the Welsh rescue – and in truth, he couldn't really remember much about it – he wasn't going through the fallout again. Ever. "Yes, Sir."

There was a brief silence. Then Jeff sighed and said, "Alan, I want you to know that my reluctance to let you back into International Rescue is no reflection on you, or your abilities. I'm simply concerned about your health. The last thing we need is for you to push yourself too hard and risk a relapse."

It was a legitimate concern, Alan could accept that. If it had been any of his brothers in his position, he'd probably have felt the same. But knowing there was more to it than that – that they were all hiding something from him – undermined his dad's concern completely. This wasn't about his health; this was about the great Tracy conspiracy and keeping him firmly away from it.

Well, his family were going to find out just how hard that was going be.

* * *

><p>The next hour passed in a blur of meetings, greetings and setting up. Mobile Control was assembled, Jeff began coordinating with the local authorities and Thunderbird 2 brought up the rear, the Mole prepped and ready to plough through the rubble.<p>

Alan followed every order to the letter, refusing to give his father a reason to chain him to Mobile Control or worse, send him to wait in Thunderbird 2 until the rescue was over. No, he was going to be here, in the thick of the action. Then maybe someone would let something slip and he'd finally learn what was going on behind his back.

They were being sent out in search parties of five, sweeping different parts of the mall and the surrounding area, looking for survivors. So far six of the missing citizens had been found alive and well, but concern was growing, particularly for a young family who'd last been seen entering their independent store at the rear of the mall. The area had been thoroughly searched but there'd been no sign of the missing family yet.

Alan was working with Virgil, which hadn't been unexpected. As the senior member of International Rescue on the ground, Virgil was the natural choice to watch him and make sure he wasn't going to keel over. That left Fermat and Tin-Tin together, which wasn't an ideal choice for such junior members of IR, but Jeff had paired them with the brawny Police Chief, an ex-special forces officer who looked like he'd stepped off the cover of Recruitment Today.

Jeff himself was manning Mobile Control, keeping an overall track of everyone's progress and closely monitoring the seismic activity. Watching him, Alan couldn't help feeling a grudging admiration, despite his anger. Since he'd joined IR, he couldn't remember his dad ever coming out on a rescue mission. It was kind of like seeing the master at work.

Alan rounded a corner, picking his way carefully over the rubble. Gisborne was a mess. Shop signs hung drunkenly from their awnings; shards of shattered glass littered the pavement and the road underfoot was cracked and broken. With the streets so deserted, it was like being stuck in one of those post-apocalyptic films where the human race has been all but wiped out.

He waved his scanner back and forth slowly, watching for any signs of life. Behind him, the two local men Virgil had assigned to his team did the same. An invention of Brains, the scanners were adapted to monitor heartbeats, heat signatures and to pick up human speech from as far as a hundred metres away in the direction it was facing. They had already proved invaluable, picking out a knot of huddled school children who had sought shelter in the back of a car dealership during the earthquake.

"_Alan, how's it looking_?"

Virgil's voice crackled in his ear and he touched the microphone on his helmet. "All clear here. A lot of mess but no signs of life." He looked to his companions for confirmation. The dark haired one – Kris, he remembered distantly – nodded his head. Stephen, the redhead, was still watching his scanner intently.

"_Same here_." His brother was quiet for a moment."_Tin-Tin reports no sign of the family yet, so we've got to keep looking._ _I want your group to head back to Mobile Control and then take the south side of the mall. We'll be working our way towards you from the other direction._"

"FAB."

Alan checked the scanner again. Mobile Control was back the way they'd come, but he could see the wisdom of Virgil's command. They had to move strategically; they couldn't afford to miss any areas of the town.

"New orders?" Kris asked, his thick accent twisting his words.

Alan nodded, moving back down the road. "Back to the mall, then we're taking the south road."

The men fell into step beside him without comment. As senior members of the Gisborne police force they were used to following orders.

It took about ten minutes to arrive back at Mobile Control, the nerve centre of the rescue effort. As Alan approached, Jeff looked up and waved him over. He jogged across, wondering what his dad wanted. Virgil would already have reported their findings – or lack of them.

"Alan, good. I need you to run back to Thunderbird 2 and grab some fresh batteries for the scanners. Tin-Tin is reporting that a couple of hers are failing."

Alan stared at his father. Was Jeff _serious_? He was being pulled out of a rescue mission to play errand boy?

Apparently he was. Jeff had already turned back to Mobile Control, effectively dismissing him. Alan bit back the anger that was threatening to rise to the surface. This wasn't the time or place to indulge his emotions. He'd just go and get the damn batteries and then get back to the business of saving lives.

Kris and Stephen were waiting for him on the edge of the square where Mobile Control had been erected. "You'll have to go on ahead," Alan told them. "I've gotta go and pick up some supplies from our ship."

"Can't we come?" Stephen asked, shooting a longing look in the direction of the Thunderbirds, which could just been seen, peeking above the buildings behind them.

Alan smiled despite himself. "Sorry. Operatives only. Go on – I'll catch up."

Stephen mock-scowled at him, but allowed Chris to drag him off. Alan watched them go, wondering how they felt being ordered around by a teenager. He certainly wouldn't have taken it with as much grace as these older men were.

Shaking his head, he turned on his heel and hurried back towards the sports field on the outskirts of town where they'd secured the ships. He tried not to tell himself that this was all part of his dad's plan to keep him out of the way, but as soon as the idea had entered his head, he couldn't escape it. He kept picturing the hatches of Thunderbird 2 closing on him, trapping him inside, safe and sound. As mad as that sounded, he wouldn't put it beyond his dad. Jeff Tracy was nothing if not innovative and overprotective.

All thoughts of his dad fled when he approached the 'birds and caught sight of a figure standing in the shade of 2's right wing, staring up at the green underbelly of the ship. Alan frowned, squinting against the early morning sun and shading his eyes with one hand. While it wasn't unusual for their machines to attract attention from the public, this whole area had been evacuated as a precaution hours ago. There shouldn't be anyone here apart from members of the emergency services, and this guy wasn't sporting any of their high-visibility uniforms so… what was he doing here?

"Are you okay?" Alan called, hurrying towards him.

The man didn't turn; didn't react at all. He was … writing something? Anger rose up inside Alan, unfurling like a slumbering tiger who'd just been woken from a long nap. A reporter. They were the bane of IR; a parasitic growth that preyed on human misery. Rural reporters like this one were the worst of all. When you lived in an area where nothing more newsworthy happened than the local best-kept garden competition, a visit by the Thunderbirds developed new significance. They seemed to go even further out of their way to get that elusive photograph.

Alan wasn't worried about that so much – the technology Brains had installed on the 'birds was more than capable of standing up to even the most persistent of reports. No, what pissed him off was how the man was wasting their time and turning himself into a blatant target. Didn't he care that he was standing in the middle of an earthquake zone?

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

Still no reaction. Alan pushed his visor up and stalked over. There was protocol for dealing with this kind of situation, but right now he wasn't sure he wanted to follow it. Besides, they were more like guidelines anyway…

"Are you deaf? Hey, I'm talking to you!"

The man jumped violently, his notepad falling to the ground. He snatched it up and then turned slowly, revealing a non-descript man of about Scott's age with plain features and a thatch of brown hair. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his thin nose, throwing up flashes of gold in the afternoon sun.

"Can I help you?" Alan asked archly, folding his arms across his chest.

"I – I was just –"

"I'm sure. Look, this area has been evacuated for a reason. We need to get you out of here."

"Not yet." The man appeared agitated, hands tightening around the note. He took a step backwards. "I'll come with you in a second, but first I just need to –"

"You _need_ to come with me. Now." Alan reached out to take the man's arm, but the stranger recoiled, hugging the notebook to his chest.

Alan's temper snapped. "Look, stop messing around. This isn't a test or a drill or something – it's a real-life earthquake. I don't know how you got past the perimeter, but I don't have time for this right now. I'm getting you out of here so I can get back to doing my job – saving lives. Oh and yes, you can quote me on that."

Again he reached out and again the man jumped backwards. This time though his foot slipped on the uneven ground and he tipped over with a painful-sounding thump.

Alan bit back a curse, wondering what he'd done so wrong recently that had led to life conspiring again him. This was the last thing he needed when he was trying to press upon his dad and brothers how ready he was to rejoin IR.

"Hey, are you okay?" He retrieved the man's notepad from where it had fallen and glanced at it idly. The pages were covered in mathematical equations, the handwriting so cramped and erratic that Alan could barely make it out. Still, not exactly the kind of thing he would have expected from a reporter.

Behind him the man was picking himself up off the floor, brushing dirt off his patched anorak and faded jeans. When he saw Alan inspecting the notepad, he froze.

"Give it back."

Alan looked down at the notepad and then back up at the man. "What?"

"My notepad. Give it back."

"A 'please' would be nice. But how about this? You come with me and once we're outside the earthquake-zone, _then_ you can have your notepad back."

The man's hands clenched. "But I haven't – I haven't finished. I need it back now and then I'll –" He lunged for the notepad and it was Alan's turn to dance backwards.

"Hey, hold on a second! I said you could have it back as soon as we're out of here. So just calm down, okay? You'll get it back, I promise."

As if to compound things, Alan's headset chose that moment to crackle into life. "_Alan, what's taking so long? We need those batteries_ _now_." His dad. Great.

"Er, I just ran into a bit of a complication." He glanced across at the man, who had remained where he was, watching Alan warily, then turned his back for privacy's sake. "There's a guy hanging around the 'birds. He's kind of reluctant to leave."

"_Have you explained the situation to him_? _You need to get him out of there quickly_."

"I'm trying," Alan said through gritted teeth. "He's not being very co-operative."

"_Well then try harder because Tin-Tin needs those batteries asap_," came the unhelpful response. "_Or do I need to send Virgil to help you_?"

The insinuation that he needed his older brother to hold his hand stung. "I'll be fine. You can expect the supplies in ten minutes. Alan out."

Okay, so it wasn't the most mature of responses and he'd definitely hear about it later, but at least hanging up on his dad gave him a vague surge of satisfaction.

Which lasted until he turned back to the stranger and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Breaking and Entering

**Chapter Twelve: Breaking and Entering**

Katherine Oliver lived in a moderate, semi-detached house on the outskirts of Cambridge. Part of one of those flat-pack housing estates popular back in the late twentieth century, there was nothing to differentiate Kate's house from any of the surrounding dwellings aside from a pair of cheery red curtains that hung in the front window. The garden was a plain stretch of green lawn and a short hedge, to give the allusion of privacy. A nice house, nothing wrong with it really, but something about the way that it screamed "suburbia" made Gordon uncomfortable.

Scott turned off the engine and just sat there for a few moments, eyes fixed on the dashboard. Gordon watched his brother, but didn't say anything. This was going to be hard enough for Scott without him weighing in with an unwanted opinion.

"Alright," Scott said finally. "Let's go."

He shoved the car door opening without waiting for an answer and Gordon was forced to hare after him, running straight into the little swing gate when Scott didn't hold it open for him. By the time he joined his brother by the front door, Scott had already rang the doorbell.

They waited – Scott patiently, Gordon fidgeting with his jacket. Kate was definitely home; there was a little dark blue car parked on the drive. Maybe she was in the shower? Evening was drawing in now; perhaps she had plans. After the scene between her and Scott, Gordon couldn't blame her for wanting to head out for a boozy night on the town.

Just as Scott was reaching up to ring the bell again, there was the sound of a chain scraping against wood and then the door opened. Not fully, but just enough so that he could make out a female face on the other side. Kate Oliver – and she didn't look happy to see them.

"What do you want?"

"Kate –"

"I can't believe you had the gall to show up here – what were you thinking? That I'd let you in, let bygones be bygones and we could all have a nice cup of tea and a biscuit? Well I'm fresh out of both so why don't you just sod off and leave me alone?"

She tried to close to door. Scott stuck his foot in the gap. "Kate, just listen to me –"

"Move your foot."

"Please –"

"Oh _now_ you're being polite? Maybe you should have tried more of that earlier – it would have worked a hell of a lot better than yelling at me! Now move your damn foot!"

"Just give me one minute," Scott challenged, foot still firmly preventing the door from closing, "and I'll tell you everything."

She stared at him and then laughed derisively. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to make it easy for you, like some kind of soppy romance film. Where are the flowers, eh? And the chocolates? I'm surprised you didn't get down on one knee to beg my forgiveness –"

"Stop it!" Scott commanded, pushing on the door. "And let me in!"

It was the wrong move; Gordon saw that instantly. The woman drew herself up, her dark eyes flashing. "You don't tell me what to do," she said quietly. "You _never_ tell me what to do, do you understand? I'm not your lackey; I'm not your employee and I sure as hell am not your property, Scott Tracy. I don't know what this afternoon was about and frankly, I don't really care. The way you spoke to me – it made me feel this small." She held her thumb and index finger a couple of millimetres apart. "I haven't felt like that in a really long time. And I've no desire to feel like that again in the future. So take your foot out of my doorframe, walk down that path and _stay the_ _hell away from me_!"

Either Scott just gave in, or Kate's anger gave her the added strength she needed, because this time the door really did slam shut. Scott stumbled, his hand grazing the wood and balling into a fist. For a second Gordon thought he was going to hammer on the door, demand to be let in. But instead, Scott lowered his hand and stepped backwards.

"Um … what now?" Gordon asked into the silence.

Scott dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a key. He hefted it in his palm. "We try the back door."

Gordon stared at it and then jerked his head up to look at Scott. "You have a key?"

Scott closed his fingers around it and started off round the side of Kate's house. Gordon followed him, still mulling the revelation over. Scott had a key? To his girlfriend's house? That was serious relationship territory. _Really_ serious relationship territory. If the two years thing hadn't been enough of a clue, this definitely was. What was it costing Scott to be here, doing this? And God, how was he going to react if it _did_ turn out that Kate had something to do with Alan's coma?

Scott opened the side gate and they stepped into Kate's back garden. It was as unremarkable as the front; another square of lawn framed by flowerbeds and ringed by a wooden fence. Light from Kate's kitchen spilled out onto the patio, but the room itself was empty.

Scott approached the back door, which was nothing more than a few bits of plywood and some panes of glass. Before he could open it, Gordon caught his arm. "Do you really think breaking into her house is gonna help this situation?"

"No, probably not. But we need this information and right now, I can't see any other way of getting it."

"But what about …" Gordon wanted to say,_ what about your relationship with Kate_? but couldn't quite find the words.

"Do you want to be the one who tells Dad that we failed? Who tells Alan?" Scott shrugged his hand off and turned back to the door. "I didn't think so."

He unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Kate?" he called, stepping inside.

Gordon closed the door behind them, shutting out the cool evening air. When he turned back to survey the kitchen, he saw that Kate had appeared in the doorway. To say she didn't look pleased was the world's biggest understatement.

Although he'd technically seen her at the university and the front door, this was the first time Gordon had got a good look at his brother's girlfriend. And she wasn't exactly what he would have expected. Instead of the typical model-esque blondes that Scott seemed to favour, Kate was petite and curvy – maybe even a touch overweight. She was dressed casually, in worn jeans and a green sweater and with her mass of dark curls, dark eyes and pale skin, she was striking, but not the kind of woman that would make you stop and stare in the street. Gordon wondered how she and Scott had met.

"What the – you're breaking into my _house_ now?" she shook her head, curls dancing wildly, dark eyes reflecting her fury. "Where do you get off? What makes you think you can – oh, that's right. I forgot. You're _Scott Tracy_. You can do whatever the hell you want because your daddy's some kind of bigshot. Well that might work in the US, but this is England and I doubt even Jeff Tracy is above the law here. So get out of my house before I call the police and get you arrested for breaking and entering, stalking, trespassing and whatever else I can come up with!"

"Don't you want to know why I was asking about Richard Wilcox?"

"I don't care." Kate crossed to the kitchen counter and snatching up the cordless phone that lay there. She punched in a three digit number – no guessing which one – and then pressed the phone to her ear, waiting.

"Kate…" Scott reached for her but she backed away, holding her hand out. "Police please," she said into the phone.

Scott caught Gordon's eyes and he saw the desperation there. Everything was spiralling out of control and his brother didn't know how to fix it.

Gordon thought quickly. The only thing that was going to satisfy Kate now was the absolute truth. About IR, Alan, Wilcox – everything. But there was no way that Scott was going to tell her that. Not when it would directly countermand one of Jeff Tracy's strictest orders: the need for absolute secrecy. He respected their father's rules too much. He wouldn't break them, not even when it meant losing someone he loved.

Gordon had no such qualms. He'd faced his dad's wrath countless times before and would no doubt face it again in the future. Everything he'd seen of Kate, everything Scott had told him, pointed to the fact that she was either the most committed plant they'd ever come across or she was a genuine Physics professor who had just had the misfortune to fall in love with one Scott Tracy.

Behind him, Kate had moved past the I'd-like-to-speak-to-someone-in-charge phase and was explaining that two men had broken into her house and were refusing to leave. Scott had fallen silent. He was leaning against the kitchen units, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes on Kate.

Gordon cleared his throat noisily. Scott frowned at him and even Kate paused, with a hurried, "Could you just hold on a second, please?" to whoever she was talking to on the phone.

Once he was sure he had their attention, Gordon declared, "We're members of International Rescue."

Kate held his gaze for a few moments and then burst out laughing, moving the phone away from her mouth just in time. "I'm sorry, it's just – do you really think I'm _that_ gullible? International Rescue? That's the best you can come up with?" Her good humour faded. "Get out."

"We're members of International Rescue," Gordon repeated firmly, ignoring the death-glare that Scott was sending his way. "Several months ago, one of our colleagues was injured during a rescue. We later found out that his injury was the result of a bomb, which had been planted at the rescue site and had caused the very situation we'd been called out to help with. Since then he's targeted schools, offices, warehouses and even a village in Africa. We've been tracking this bomber ever since, trying to piece together his identity so that we could find him and stop him before he hurt anyone else. The information we gathered led us to a man named Richard Wilcox, which in turn led us here."

"I don't believe you," Kate said flatly, glancing across at Scott. Something in his expression must have spoken to her because she paled and looked quickly away. When she raised her head again, her face was set. "Prove it."

Gordon raised his watch to his lips. "Gordon to Thunderbird 5. Come in Thunderbird 5."

There were a few seconds of silence and then John's voice came through. "_Gordon_? _Can this wait? We're in the middle of a rescue here._"

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just needed to convince someone that we're who we say we are. This seemed like the easiest way."

"_Well I'm glad I could be so obliging_._ Are we done_?"

Gordon studied Kate carefully. "I reckon so. Thanks Johnny."

"_Don't bug me again_."

Gordon disconnected the call and canted an eyebrow in Kate's direction. "Proof enough for you?"

She shook her head slowly like someone waking up from a long sleep. Gordon could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to piece everything together. Everything she'd heard. Everything she'd seen.

"You're really International Rescue." There was the slightest edge of hysteria in Kate's voice. As if she couldn't believe what she was saying.

"Yes." Scott spoke up suddenly, startling them both. His back was to them, arms braced on the kitchen worktop. "We are."

After a full minute had passed – during which the policeman or woman on other end of the phone grew more and more agitated – Kate raised the phone to her mouth and murmured, "I'm sorry, it was a false alarm." She pressed the cancel button and very carefully put the phone back in its cradle. When she looked up again, her dark eyes were direct.

"Tell me everything."

* * *

><p>They retired to the lounge. Tastefully decorated in shades of cream and brown, it held a sofa, sofa chair and a small television unit. Kate had settled into the chair, leaving the sofa for Gordon. Scott stood in front of the window, keeping his thoughts to himself. He seemed content to let Gordon explain.<p>

He told her everything. Everything about the rescue in Wales that had started this whole mess. About the bombs. Their suspicions about Richard Wilcox. The Thunderbirds. Why they were here, in her living room.

All the stuff that Scott hadn't been able to bring himself to say.

Kate sat quietly, drinking everything in. Gordon could tell she believed him; that wasn't the problem. No, it was the glances she kept sneaking at Scott, the ones that spoke of her hurt and anger at just how much he'd been hiding from her. They'd been together for two years… and he'd been lying to her all along.

Gordon finally ran out of things to say and lapsed into silence. Kate rose then, not looking at either of them. "I should make some tea," she murmured, before disappearing out of the door.

Only when she'd gone, did Scott turn back around. His face was set and Gordon braced himself from a lecture, but Scott only said, "We need to ask her about Wilcox."

He could be so single-minded sometimes, Gordon thought. While that was an asset on rescues, here in the real world it could be a pain in the butt. Did he not even _care_ that his relationship was hanging in tattered shreds?

"Well why don't you then?" Gordon replied, an edge of challenge in his voice that he hoped would kick-start Scott into some kind of action. "I've said my piece."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"One of us had to!" Gordon defended himself. "She wasn't going to believe anything but the truth." He shrugged. "I thought it would be easier coming from me."

"Dad's gonna rip you a new one."

"Yeah well … not like it'll be the first time, you know? Besides, he's all about getting the info and as far as I can see, this is the only option we had." Gordon pulled himself more upright on the sofa. "So do you wanna ask her about Wilcox, or shall I?"

"I'll do it."

"You sure?"

"I said I'll do it, Gordon."

There was a clear warning in Scott's tone and Gordon backed off. "Whatever you say."

They sat in restless silence until Kate returned to the room, tray in hand. She put a blue mug down in front of Scott without looking at him and then turned to Gordon. "I didn't know what you took so just help yourself." She indicated the milk jug and sugar bowl on the tray. Gordon smiled his thanks.

Taking her own red mug in hand, Kate settled back into the chair. She seemed calmer now, less dazed by everything, as if the time in the kitchen had helped her to put everything into perspective. Her first words pretty much confirmed that.

"So Tracy Industries is basically a front for International Rescue."

Gordon was busy stirring sugar into his tea and remained purposefully silent. If Scott wanted to saddle up and plunge in, now was the time.

"Not exactly," his brother said quietly after a pause. "But it does fund International Rescues operations."

Kate nodded slowly. "And International Rescue is a family-run organisation, led by your dad. You and all of your brothers are part of it."

"Yeah."

"Including, um…"

"Gordon," Gordon supplied helpfully.

"And Alan I assume? So when he got hurt…" She shook her head and gave a bark of a laugh. "It wasn't rock-climbing at all, was it? _He_ was the one who was injured by this man – by the bomber you're hunting."

"Richard Wilcox," Scott corrected.

"You can't know that."

"We have some pretty compelling proof."

"A photograph?" Kate scoffed. "Hardly conclusive."

"I know you don't want to believe your friend –" Scott began.

"Don't patronise me," she interrupted. "You don't know anything about my relationship with Richard."

They slipped into an awkward silence. Gordon sipped his tea and tried to think of something to say to break the tension. For the first time in his life, he came up short.

"You know this – this is all so crazy," Kate burst out finally. "It's like something off a TV show. The secret double-life of my boyfriend…"

"So you do believe us?" Scott pressed.

She gave him a scornful look. "No one would make this up – it's too insane. And it actually explains a lot. All those times you'd call to cancel or had to leave early… I used to think you were cheating on me. Such a relief to find out you were actually off saving the world. That's sure a weight off my mind."

Scott stared at her. "You thought I was cheating on you?"

"What else was I supposed to think? I gave you the benefit of the doubt for the first year or so, but then the lies started to get a bit repetitive. And _no one _– not even someone with four brothers – has that many personal family emergencies to attend to." She used air-quotes to emphasise her sarcasm.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because I didn't want to believe it!" Kate shouted, pushing herself out of the chair and slamming her mug down onto the table. Hot tea sloshed over the side, but she didn't seem to notice. "Because I wanted to trust you – because I loved you, you idiot!"

They stared at each other, Kate's eyes narrowed with anger and Scott's – Scott's oddly vulnerable. Gordon, feeling very much like he was witnessing something private, scrunched down into the sofa cushions and tried to pretend he wasn't there.

After a few moments, Kate's rage subsided and she slumped back into the chair. "I can't believe you didn't tell me," she said listlessly.

"I couldn't. We have rules, my dad –" Scott shook his head. "It's complicated."

"That's such a cop out."

"Yeah, I guess it is," Scott admitted, surprising Gordon. "I could have told him. I _should_ have."

She looked up at him then. "So why didn't you?"

"I… I don't know."

The "because I didn't trust you enough" hung in the air between them, unspoken but implicit. Kate nodded as if Scott had confirmed something and then snatched up her tea, ignoring where it dripped onto her green sweater. She gulped it down almost desperately, draining the mug in moments.

Scott waited until she'd put the mug back down again. "Kate, about Richard Wilcox …"

"You really don't want to have this conversation with me right now," she cut in, voice low.

"I don't have a choice." Scott drew himself up and folded his arms across his chest. The brief moment of vulnerability was gone and the Field Commander was back, burying his feelings beneath his work ethic. Protecting his emotions. It was certainly good for International Rescue, but was it good for Scott Tracy?

"I need this information," Scott continued. "Wilcox is dangerous and he has to be stopped before he hurts anyone else. Now, how do you know him?"

Kate looked up at him, her dark eyes brimming with anger. "You arrogant bastard. Coming in here, making your demands – I don't care if you _are_ International Rescue, no one speaks to me like that. You don't know anything about Richard –"

"The photograph –"

"Proves nothing!"

Gordon had had enough. He stood up suddenly, startling both of them. After pausing to make sure he had their full attention, he pulled something out of his pocket and placed it carefully on the coffee table, mindful of Kate's earlier tea spill.

"This is the photo of Richard Wilcox, taken by one of our operatives in Africa. It was at the site of a wildfire that we later learned had been caused by a homemade bomb. The fire destroyed fields of crops and nearly burned a village to the ground. Richard Wilcox was discovered onsite, nursing a burned hand, which one of our operatives attended to. She states that he spoke with an English accent and appeared nervous around her." Gordon pushed the photograph across the table towards Kate. "Please, just take a look at it."

She picked it up, her eyes drawn unwillingly to the figure of the man in the centre of the frame. It wasn't a perfect image, Gordon knew, but it was certainly clear enough to provide an identification.

Kate was silent for a long time. When she finally did speak, all the fight had gone out of her voice. "When was this taken?" she asked quietly.

"A couple of weeks ago."

Her finger traced across Wilcox's face and then she pushed the picture away. "He told me he was on holiday."

"In Africa?"

"In Africa. He even brought me back one of those tacky tribal masks – oh God." She buried her face in her hands, muffling her voice. "I didn't want to believe you – I couldn't believe you, but this… this is Richard. It's really him. Which is either the world's biggest coincidence or… " She looked up suddenly, pushing dark curls out of her face. "How long has this been going on?"

Gordon and Scott exchanged glances. "We're not sure," Gordon said honestly. "But it dates back several months. Maybe even a year."

"How many accidents has the bomb – has Richard caused?" Kate demanded.

"We don't really –"

She twisted around to face Scott. "How many?"

"There are five or so that we know about for certain," he admitted. "Maybe five more we suspect his involvement in. He's clever; they don't always look like traditional terrorist attacks. Some we assumed were fires caused by other means until we found remains of the bombs."

Kate pressed a hand to her mouth. It was trembling. "Terrorist attacks… God, that's what he is now, isn't it? Richard is a terrorist. When you catch him, he's going to be arrested and sent to prison – or maybe even killed!"

Scott took a step towards her. "Kate –"

She held up her hand, stopping him. "No! I – I just need… I just need a moment. Just give me a moment."

Gordon waited until Scott glanced across at him and then jerked his head towards the door. Relief passed over Scott's face and he nodded. Gordon collected the photograph from the table and tucked it back inside his pocket. Reaching the door he paused and glanced back.

Kate had pulled her knees up and was hugging them to her chest. As Gordon watched, Scott settled on the arm of the chair. He reached out slowly, as if wanting to take her hand, hesitated, and then folded his arms across his chest instead.

The silence stretched between them as Gordon slipped out of the room.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Richard Wilcox, PhD

**Chapter Thirteen: Richard Wilcox, PHD**

For several long seconds, Alan Tracy just stared at the gun. It was shaking, moving from pointing at his forehead, to his chest, his left arm, then back to his forehead again. But not matter how bad the aim of the gun, there was no getting around the fact that it was definitely pointing at him.

As his brain screamed "Holy shit!" on an endless loop, he fought to remain calm. His hands rose into the standard _please-don't-shoot-me_ position and he took a couple of careful steps backwards.

"Okay, let's just talk about this for a second." He kept his voice as level as possible, but it was a struggle. Of all the ways he could have imagined this rescue going, ending up with a gun pointed at his head hadn't been high on the list. "Now how about you start by lowering the gun."

"Give it back," the man demanded, voice rising. He was gesturing at something above Alan's head and with a start Alan realised he was still holding the notepad.

_That_ was what this was about? The man was threatening him with a gun because of some notepad? What was in there, state secrets?

"Okay, I'll give it back. I'm giving it back, see?" Alan lowered his hand slowly, holding the notepad out. The man eyed it hungrily.

"Put it on the ground and then… then step back."

Alan obeyed, moving backwards gratefully. The man scampered forward and snatched up the notepad, flicking it open and running his finger down one page. The gun dipped to the ground and Alan followed its progress, wondering if he should risk trying to grab it or if he should just wait until the man had calmed down. After all, he had the notepad back now, didn't he? What more was there to threaten Alan about?

"How much did you read?" the man asked suddenly, without looking up.

Alan blinked, recalling the random scribbles. "Not much. And I didn't understand it anyway," he admitted. "I thought you were a reporter, but I guess not."

"A reporter?"

"Well you know, the notepad, your fascination with the 'birds… what else would you be doing here?" As he voiced that thought, Alan realised it really was a good question.

Unfortunately the man seemed to agree with him. The gun shot back up again. "I'm not here for anything," he denied too quickly.

"Then why are you pointing a gun at me?"

"To get my notes back."

"Well you've done that now so… hows about putting that gun down?"

The man seemed to consider that for a second and then shook his head. "Too risky. You've seen my secrets. You _know_."

"I don't know anything – I barely even looked!"

The man wasn't listening. He was flicking through the book again, muttering to himself. The gun was slipping down towards Alan's legs and he started thinking seriously about running. He shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet, mentally judging the distance between himself and the nearest cover… and as if it had been following his thoughts, the gun rose back up again.

"It's incomplete," the man told him, sounding entirely too rational. "I've been working on it for months, but I just can't – it's like I'm missing something. Am I missing something? Is there some great secret that unlocks everything?"

Alan assumed the question was rhetorical until the man looked up at him again. "Well?" he demanded, waving the gun.

Alan cleared his throat. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," he said carefully. "Maybe if you… could you explain?"

"Your machines." The gun swung around to canvas the 'birds and Alan fought the urge to duck and cover. "They're – amazing. Truly amazing works of engineering. I thought if I could just get close enough… but I can't. They don't – they don't work properly. None of my calculations work properly!" He was becoming agitated, fingers convulsing around the notepad, tearing at the pages. "I need this. _I need it_. But I can't – why doesn't it work? What am I missing?"

There was something frightening in his eyes, a kind of desperate fanaticism that Alan had rarely seen outside of the movie theatre. That he was obsessed with the 'birds wasn't a new one – IR had dealt with wannabee plane-chasers before – but the gun, and the fact that he was here, in the middle of a rescue, suggested a whole new level of… what? Commitment? Insanity?

"I've taken into account every parameter, every calculation, but it still doesn't work. I thought if I just had more time with them, if I just studied them for longer – " He broke off, a look of wonder dawning on his face. "I need to go inside. Yes, I need to go inside them! That's it – that's what's missing! How could I not have seen it? All these months –" He turned his attention back to Alan, gun bouncing up and down. "You, take me inside."

"You want to go inside the Thunderbirds?" Alan asked, playing for time.

"If I can just get a glimpse of the internal makeup – they'll have to let me back in!" When Alan didn't move, he waggled the gun again. "Take me inside!"

"Which one?"

"Which one? Ah, which one." The man fingered his notebook. "The green one."

"The green one, right." Alan took a deep breath and braced himself. "No."

The man stared at him blankly. "No?"

"No," Alan repeated, heart racing.

"But I've got a gun." The man frowned, seeming genuinely bewildered. "You have to do what I say."

"I can't take you inside. It's rule number one of International Rescue." It wasn't actually, but if this guy was as unstable as he seemed then he wasn't getting anywhere near the 'birds. "But maybe, maybe if we can just talk about this for a moment then we can come to some kind of arrangement –"

The gun fired. Alan stumbled backwards, blinking dust out of his eyes. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked down at the hole in the ground to the left of where he'd been standing. A thin wisp of smoke rose slowly upwards.

"I need this!" the man shouted, voice rising to almost hysterical levels. "Don't you understand? This is _everything_. To be so close – do you really think I'm going to just walk away? Or stand here, _talking_? Talking doesn't solve anything; it's _actions_ that people really care about. Actions like holding a gun. And fi-firing a gun." There was a brief pause. When the man spoke again, sanity had returned to his voice. "Now will you please do as I asked?"

Eyes still on the smoking hole and thoughts full off what it signified, Alan nodded.

* * *

><p>The clock ticked softly, rhythmically, on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. It should have been a soothing sound, or maybe just white noise. Easy to overlook. Easy to ignore. Instead it felt like someone was trying to drive the sharp end of a stick into Scott Tracy's brain.<p>

It was the silence that was making it seem so loud. Kate had been quiet for a good ten minutes now, leaving him to try and figure out what she was thinking and wondering if he should press the Wilcox issue. Scott Tracy, the Field Commander of International Rescue, wouldn't have hesitated. Scott Tracy, the boyfriend of Kate Oliver, had so much more to lose.

"I suppose you want to know about Richard now."

Her voice sounded horribly tired. Colourless. She was facing the window, knees tucked up under her chin and arms wrapped around them. The curtains were still open despite the darkness outside and Scott could just make out Gordon's silhouette in the car. The light was on; usually this would have had Scott worrying about draining the battery, but right now he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"If you're ready to talk."

"Will I get you to leave any other way…?"

Scott hoped the question was rhetorical, because he had no idea how to answer it. He wanted – he _needed_ – to make everything okay again, but he didn't know how. If he tried to hug her, she'd just push him away. If he tried to tell her it was all going to work out, she'd just accuse him of lying. Again.

Kate sighed and ran a hand through her curly hair, pushing it back out of her eyes. "We met at university."

"Here?"

"No." She shook her head. "London."

Imperial College, Scott thought. Another connection with Wilcox. His gut twisted unpleasantly. Was that one coincidence too many?

"Richard was younger than me, but we were in the same year. Shared some of the same classes."

"You were friends?"

"No," she said, surprising him. "At least, not back then. He was… he was a bit of a misfit, even amongst the other Physics students. I didn't really know him, other than being that slightly weird kid who – who, um –"

Scott waited but Kate just left the sentence hanging. "Who what?" he asked finally.

She began toying with the bottom of her sweater, wrapping it around one finger and letting it go again. "Who had a bit of a fascination with explosives," she admitted unhappily, quickly adding, "but that wasn't unusual, not in the Physics department. We all – we used to get together sometimes and do these experiments – Alex Hessian blew a hole in the wall of the third floor science lab and now he's Head of Physics at MIT – "

"Kate, you don't have to justify your friendship with Wilcox to me."

"I'm not! I just – we all liked playing around with explosives, okay? It didn't make us terrorists." She glared at him, daring him to challenge her, as she had so often throughout their relationship. Only there was nothing playful in her expression now. Just pain and anger and a sliver of desolation that made him want to hunt down Wilcox and punch his face in for putting all of them through this.

"When did you and Wilcox become friends then?" he asked, purposefully changing the subject.

Kate narrowed her eyes slightly, but gave him an honest answer. "My second year at Cambridge. Cathy Withall moved to Australia and Richard replaced her as one of Professor Tyers's lab assistants."

"Wait – your second year?"

"That's what I said."

Scott frowned. "But Wilcox graduated from Imperial College at the same time as you, right? Why the delay?"

Kate bit her lip. "His family… it was something to do with money, I think. Undergraduate and Masters degrees are expensive – I know that first hand. When Richard decided to do a Ph.D straight afterwards, well, I don't think his family could afford it. He tried for funding, but there was some kind of objection – his age, I think. He was told to wait and apply the next year."

"Which he did."

"Yeah, but even then he had to supplement his funding by working for Professor Tyers." Kate shifted in the chair, letting her legs drop down onto the floor again. "It wasn't an ideal situation," she continued. "He didn't really have enough time to devote to his studies so his work progressed too slowly and his funds started to run out and…" She shook her head, but didn't elaborate.

"What happened?" Scott pressed.

Kate looked like she wanted to argue, but then she just bowed her head. Scott hated how defeated she looked. "Richard wasn't a bad guy," she explained. "It was the money… he just didn't have enough. By the end he was working two, three jobs just to make ends meet. He was getting written up by his Ph.D tutor for failing to complete his work on schedule. Professor Tyers was sympathetic, but Richard's workload was being split among me and Andrew Masters, his senior lab tech at the time, and… well it wasn't fair on us. The whole department was feeling the strain. Something had to give."

"He was fired?"

"Not at first. I think Professor Tyers saw real potential in him, so he spoke to his family, his Ph.D tutor – anyone really who could help. But the funds just weren't there and Richard… Richard got desperate.

"You have to understand – physics was his whole life. When bureaucracy threatened to take that away from him, he lost his focus. He grew irrational, paranoid even. He couldn't see any way out apart from making some quick cash, so he started stealing for the department. It was just small things at first, a few bits of equipment, a couple of vials of harmless chemicals. You'd be surprised how thriving the black market is for that kind of thing. But it still wasn't enough. It was nowhere near enough. So Richard moved on to bigger, more dangerous things."

Kate paused and took a deep breath. "He started selling the department's supply of sulphuric acid, among other things. I'm not sure how long it went on for, but… he was caught. And he was fired, though with Professor Tyers's help, he didn't face any criminal charges. Richard Wilcox was officially released from his contract for improper conduct and the world moved on."

"And Wilcox?" Scott prompted when she hesitated.

She pushed herself up from the chair and wandered across to the fireplace. It was an old fashioned piece for such a modern house, brick, with the mantelpiece running across the top. A pair of photo frames book-ended the mantelpiece, one showing Kate alongside a girl that looked so similar that it had to be her sister Amanda and the other showing a dark-haired man smiling at something off camera. It took Scott a moment to realise that the man in the photo was him.

As if she was following his thoughts, Kate picked up the photograph and studied it for a moment. "Richard… he couldn't move on. He had nowhere to move on _to_, not really. So I guess I wasn't surprised when he kept in touch with me."

"You encouraged him?"

Kate put the photo back down with a thump. "Of course I didn't encourage him! What, do you think I told him it would be a good idea to start – to start _blowing_ things up to get attention? God, I just – " She spun around, hands pressing against the mantelpiece, convulsing, her knuckles turning white. A few endless seconds passed and then she released the mantelpiece and turned back, her face perfectly composed. "No, I didn't encourage him. Not like that. I felt sorry for him because he didn't have anyone else, so I tried to be his friend. I talked to him; we spent time together. I employed him as a researcher on a couple of my projects –"

"The university let you do that?"

"He worked under a fake name. Don't look at me like that; you don't know how desperate he was!" Her eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and guilt. "I had to help him. He had no money, no prospects – should I have just abandoned him? I thought –"

"What?" Scott prompted when she didn't continue.

Kate pushed a handful of curly hair back behind one ear and sighed. "I thought that if he could just build up a strong portfolio of work then maybe the university would consider taking him back. He'd need money for the work, so…"

Scott raised his eyebrows. "That would need to be one hell of a strong portfolio."

"I didn't say it was the best idea in the world! But he was desperate and I – I didn't know what else to say. It has happened in the past – some of the top physicists were pretty unpleasant individuals with unsavoury habits, but their work was important enough to overlook the negativities." She hugged herself. "I had to give him something to hope for."

Scott's mind was racing. Of all the projects Richard Wilcox could have pursued to try and earn his way back into the faculty, there was only one that fit the pattern of his movements and explained everything that has family had been through in the last year. High-end technological development and top-shelf security; they must have represented the ultimate in forbidden fruit to a desperate physicist.

"You gave him International Rescue."

* * *

><p>Once inside Thunderbird 2, the man didn't seem to know what to do with Alan. Eventually he directed him to the co-pilot's chair and made Alan fasten the harness, in an attempt to prevent him from moving. As if a small metal catch was somehow going to do anything to stop Alan. The gun in his attacker's hand was all the incentive Alan needed to keep him firmly in the chair.<p>

At least it wasn't pointed at him anymore. It was lying, discarded, on the top of the console and the man was too busy pouring over Thunderbird 2's controls to pay too much attention to his passenger. Which was all well and good because it gave Alan time to gather his frayed wits together and come up with another line of attack. The fact that the man was willing to use the gun was a big tick in the minus column, along with his obviously unsettled mental state. A "fruitloop", Gordon would have called him. What Alan would do to have Gordon beside him now, eagerly planning their escape…

Alan bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, forcing himself to concentrate. His helmet lay on the floor behind him, discarded by the man during their entrance. It was either dumb luck or foresight on the stranger's part, because with his head mic out of reach and his watch currently strapped down to the chair arm, he had no way of contacting the outside world. Even if his dad did follow through with his threat of sending Virgil to check up on him, unless his brother actually came inside Thunderbird 2, he had no way of knowing Alan was being held captive inside.

Which left… not a whole lot of options. He had to get the guy out of the cockpit and get his hands on that gun. Which meant he had to get the guy's attention, right? After all, rule number one of How to Cope When Someone is Holding You Hostage was to get them talking. Information was power and it was also an excellent way to stall for time.

"Why are you studying our machines?"

It was a safe question, Alan figured. Not likely to provoke the man, but hopefully enough to generate a response. If he could just get a conversation going then maybe he could feel the situation out a little more.

"Because they're fascinating," came the distracted reply from the pilot's seat. The man was leafing through his notebook, scribbling figures down on any spare scrap of paper that he could find. As Alan watched, he scratched something out fiercely and then began writing upside down in the margin. "The level of technology… it's astounding. These systems – they're like nothing I've ever seen before. Nothing I could have imagined. It's – it's breathtaking. I'd love to meet the man that built them."

The thought of this man getting his hands on Brains sent a shiver up Alan's spine. He made a decision then and there to do everything he could to keep the Fermat's dad's name out of the conversation.

Which of course is why the man then asked, "Who built these?"

"I don't know," Alan lied smoothly. "It was a private contractor arranged by our commander."

"Oh." The man looked disappointed for a moment, then something on the console distracted him and he went back to his scribbling.

"Do you want to make your own versions of the Thunderbirds?" Alan persisted, refusing to lose his advantage. "Is that why you're here?"

The question seemed to amuse him. "I could never create these… I'm not an engineer. By the theory _behind_ them – yes, that will make everything better."

"Is something wrong?"

The man stopped scribbling and turned to look at him then. His glasses had slipped down his nose, but it was like he didn't even notice. "I'm sorry I fired the gun at you, you know," he said abruptly. "I've never – it's funny, I've never even held a gun before. And I wasn't trying to hurt you, I just – I couldn't let you stop me. You understand that, right?"

Alan shifted. "I understand, sure. It was just an accident."

"An accident," the man agreed, nodding eagerly. He turned back to his notes, flipping back several pages, a frown creasing his forehead. "There's just… it's so complex and I almost – but I can't quite…" He looked back at Alan. "I need you to tell me how to start the engine."

Alan thought fast. He obviously couldn't let the guy access Thunderbird 2's internal systems, but if it would get him out of the chair and the guy away from the gun…

"Okay," he said. "But you'll need to let me out of this chair."

The man wavered.

"Look, you've got the gun. You're in control of this. But I need to be able to reach the pilot's console and I can't do that from here."

The man looked from the gun to Alan and back again.

"You said you don't want to hurt me, so prove your sincerity. You help me… I'll help you."

He left that one dangling in the air. It only took a moment for the man to snatch it up. He reached over and released Alan's harness, then stepped back. Alan stood up slowly, rotating his arms and making a show of stretching. The man edged to the side as Alan took a seat in the pilot's chair. He glanced at the gun and then ran his hands over the console, playing for time. It had been a while since he'd been in this position, but it was like that old riding a bike adage. It all came back to him quickly enough.

Now he just had to find a way to draw this out long enough to get his hands on that gun.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, I gave him International Rescue?" Kate demanded.<p>

"Not you exactly. Wilcox. He saw International Rescue as his ticket back into the fold. That's why he's been planting the bombs! It's all part of some – some _science_ experiment." Scott started pacing. "God we thought there must be some kind of connection to International Rescue, but when I found out that you knew Wilcox –" He pulled up short, horrified by what he'd just said and the resulting expression on Kate's face. "Kate, I didn't mean –"

"Yes, you did," she said slowly. "And I guess… in some ways you're right. I helped him; I encouraged him; I bought supplies for his experiments." She looked up at Scott, eyes pleading. "But I didn't know, Scott. I didn't know what he was planning, you have to believe that."

And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? Trust. Did he trust that Kate had nothing to do with this? That she was an innocent bystander; a friend who'd just been trying to help? Or were there just too many coincidences for this to be any less than a conspiracy? Did he have the luxury of putting his own feelings in front of International Rescue's needs?

The answer must have been in his expression because Kate pulled back, face hardening as her anger returned in full force. "You bloody hypocrite. After I gave you the benefit of the doubt for _years_ without knowing about International Rescue! You can't even trust that I wouldn't be involved in something as horrific as this?"

"Wilcox almost killed my brother," Scott tried to explain himself. "I can't take any risks."

She nodded, mouth twisting into a mocking smile. "And maybe I would feel the same if I wasn't in love with you. If I didn't _trust_ and _respect _you and believe that you'd_ never do something like this_."

Scott couldn't think of anything to say to that. She was right, but although he wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and put his faith in Kate Oliver, he couldn't forget those days spent at Alan's bedside, wondering if his youngest brother was ever going to wake up. Putting his feelings before IR? No, it was too risky, he decided. He had to see this through first. Afterwards, maybe, afterwards he could beg her forgiveness and see if there was anything left to salvage.

"Well I can see that you're not going to change your mind, so why waste my breath?" Kate drew herself up and crossed to the door, the anger giving her the strength to rip it open. "Is there anything else or can I get back to throwing you out of my house now?"

They were back to square one, but Scott couldn't see any other way out of this. He couldn't afford to indulge himself now, no matter how much she was hurting. Not when he still needed information. "A contact number for Wilcox. We need to track him down before anyone else gets hurt."

"I'll get it for you now." She left the room without looking at him. Scott followed her back into the kitchen where she picked up the discarded phone and began cycling through her phonebook with sharp, agitated movements. "There." She thrust the phone at him and stepped back, still refusing to meet his eyes. "That's his number."

Scott looked down at the display. It seemed wrong somehow, that something so innocuous and impersonal could have caused so much trouble. "I need you to call him."

"No."

"Kate –"

"I won't do it. I won't do your dirty work. You want to speak to him so much? You call him." She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

"We need to find out where he is so that we can stop him. He won't speak to me. It needs to be someone he trusts; someone who can keep him on the phone long enough for us to get a trace on his cell."

Kate's glare didn't waver, but she snatched the phone from his outstretched hand. Turning her back in him, she stalked across to the window and stared out at the darkness.

Scott watched her for a few moments and then touched his watch, bringing it up to his lips. "Scott Tracy to Thunderbird 5. Come in, John."

The screen burst into life, revealing the familiar face of his younger brother. He didn't look particularly pleased to see Scott. "_This had better be urgent_."

"I need you to trace a call for me."

"_Not sounding very urgent –_"

"It's Wilcox."

John stared at him. "_You've got his _number_?_ _What, did you look him up in the phonebook or something_?_"_

Scott waved his hand. "Tell you later. Can you track the call?"

"_Well yeah, if you can get him to stay on the line long enough. It'll need to be thirty seconds, at least_."

"I'm not making the call."

"_Who – _?"

Scott looked up to see that Kate was watching him, face unreadable. He wondered what he looked like to her; his affiliation with International Rescue out there for all to see. All the walls between them had fallen, but they were further apart than ever. With a flash of clarity, he realised that there'd be no coming back from this.

"Make the call," he ordered.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: The Truth Will Out

**A/N:** A very patient reader recently reminded me that it had been an age since I'd updated this story. I thought they had a point so... enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen: The Truth Will Out<strong>

Those few minutes he spent in the pilot's chair, playing around on the console, were some of the longest of Alan Tracy's life. He was hyperaware of every movement his abductor made; of the sweat trickling down his neck; of the gun glinting in the sunlight; of how he just needed to lean over and grab it –

The man moved into his eye line, blocking his access to the gun. "Why is this taking so long?"

"It's a complicated procedure. There're a lot of pre-flight checks I have to do." Alan made a show of twiddling one of the dials and flicking on a number of harmless switches. "It shouldn't take much longer."

The man began muttering something about numbers, rifling through his notebook. He moved back behind Alan, leaving the way to the gun wide open. Alan glanced at it again and shifted his weight towards the left, waiting for a reaction, but the man was too intent on his numbers to notice. Abandoning his pretence at the console completely, Alan lunged for the gun – when a tinny burst of music from somewhere behind him made him jump. He dropped his hand and turned back to the console, heart racing.

The music continued; an irritatingly jolly tune that seemed oddly out of place given the situation. A cell phone, Alan realised suddenly. A cell phone was ringing. And considering how Alan's cell phone was currently somewhere behind his desk back on Tracy Island, he was guessing it belonged to his attacker.

The ringtone had just launched into its third cycle, when it fell abruptly silent. "Katherine?"

The way Alan's captor said her name – a girlfriend perhaps? Whatever; it wasn't important. What _was_ important was the fact that the man was distracted and, if the sound of his dwindling voice was any indication, actually moving away from Alan. Alan chanced a look over his shoulder and watched as the man hurried out of the cockpit, cell phone glued to his ear.

Alan could hardly believe his luck and the man's stupidity. Whoever Katherine was, he owed her _big_ time. He snatched up the gun, one ear on the distant conversation as he edged towards the entrance to the hold.

"No, no, no, no – you don't understand. I've done it! The project that will make them sit up and listen – it's here! And the numbers; oh Kate, the numbers!"

The man was in the middle of the hold. Caught up in the excitement of the phone call, he was pacing backwards and forwards, hands weaving in the air in front of him like a child on steroids. As Alan watched, he stopped suddenly, his back to the cockpit. Big mistake.

"It's incredible, you'll never believe – no, I'm sorry, I can't. Not yet. I'm not finished here. But when I am, I promise you'll be the first to know. I'll even give you co-authorship on the paper! I owe you so much Kate – you have no idea – this is just, just –"

Alan inched closer, raising the gun.

"I'll be coming home soon – I'll tell you everything then, I promise. I – I wish you could be here to see it yourself, Kate. It's so elegant, so beautiful. I just can't describe –"

"Hang up and turn around," Alan ordered as calmly as he could.

" – I can't even describe it! I'm so …"

Alan shook his head. What was _with_ this guy? First the fairly inept abduction – gun not withstanding – then the orgasm over Thunderbird 2's system, a phone call to God knows where while walking a fine line between lucidity and insanity… he was the most bizarre criminal Alan had ever met. And he seemed completely unaware of the gun pointing at his head.

"Put the phone down," Alan repeated, moving closer and circling the hold until he stepped into the stranger's eye line.

The man trailed off but the phone remained clamped to his ear. He seemed surprised to see Alan up and about and glanced several times between the gun and the now empty cockpit. "How did you…?"

"Turn the phone off and put it down."

The man obeyed slowly, returning the phone to his pocket. "Please – I know you must be angry, but please, _please_ don't stop me." Behind his glasses his eyes were feverish. "I'm so close I can almost – I can touch it. I just need a little time and then I'll have everything I need. I just need you to start up the systems –"

"No," Alan said bluntly. "I don't know what any of this is about, but it's over. Now. Because I've played along too long already and I'm rapidly running out of patience. So let's go." He gestured towards Thunderbird 2's ramp with the gun.

"No!" The man lurched forward. Alan backed up, cocking the gun.

"Hey, calm down!"

"You don't understand – why won't you understand? This, here, it's everything – _everything_. You have no idea how long I've been searching for this, planning for this; how many places I've been – all over the world! Do you have any idea how expensive air travel is these days? I've put everything on this one chance – this_ one chance_. Didn't think it would take so long – I thought Wales would be enough but the formula wasn't right and I underestimated your levels of security –"

"Wait, wait, wait… Wales? What do you mean, Wales?" A thought stirred in Alan's mind, indistinct and hazy, clawing its way up from his self-conscious. "You were in – when were you in Wales?"

"Wales, France, Los Angeles… I just had to get close enough to perfect my numbers; to really _see_." As if someone wasn't pointing a gun at him, the stranger moved across to the bulkhead and ran his fingers down the smooth green metal. "And how I have. And it's beautiful. So very beautiful…" The look he turned on Alan was full of anguish. "You _must_ let me finish."

"Hey, just – just stay where you are." It felt like his brain was running in slow motion; Alan just couldn't focus, couldn't pin down the significance of the man's words. He rubbed a hand over his face and adjusted his grip on the gun. "Stay where you are or I am going to fire this gun!"

The words came out louder than he'd intended and the man froze, mid-step.

Alan cleared his throat. "Tell me about Wales."

"Wales? Why do you –"

"Just tell me."

"But I don't know –"

"Tell me about Wales and I'll start up the systems for you," Alan said through gritted teeth.

The man blinked at him and then smiled widely, panic giving way to excitement. "Wales was where everything started. Location Zero. I knew I needed somewhere remote; somewhere people wouldn't get hurt or anything and it was – it was _beyond_ perfect. You must remember how perfect it was – I knew you would come, you see. I just_ knew_. So remote, the local services never stood a chance. So you would swoop in and I – _I'd get to see your machines._" A frown dropped over his face. "And then they were there but I couldn't – I couldn't get close enough. I'd misjudged you see. Misjudged the level of security and then there was the secondary explosion…"

In a rush, Alan was back there. Hurrying into the darkness of the mine, helmet in hand. The wall of earth exploding outwards, engulfing him in a shower of dust and rock. That flash of pain as he was thrown backwards, head smashing into the ground. Blood in his eyes; Tin-Tin's pale, frightened face. Then later, on Thunderbird 2, on Tracy Island, in his bathroom. The growing ache in his head. And that sick, gut-churning that something was seriously wrong.

Then, darkness.

The man was still babbling on, words running into each, voice rising to a fever pitch. But it was like he was speaking in a foreign language because the words weren't making any sense. Alan turned his face away, hand rising to press against his head. This man… had been in Wales. Had been _involved_ with Wales? No, that was ridiculous; Wales had been a fire in a mine. A tragic loss of life, but nothing more. Fires happened all the time in mines, what with the gas lamps and the wooden supports…

The gun felt cool against his forehead, something to focus on; something to hang onto as the world around him started spinning out of control. He felt dizzy and light-headed. The man's voice dropped away and Alan found himself staring at the floor of Thunderbird 2 as it rocked beneath him. It was like being on a ship at sea. He tried to regain his balance and failed, falling to his hands and knees as his stomach gave a great lurch. He just had enough time to move the gun out of the way before he threw up.

The acidity of the bile stung his tongue and Alan coughed, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths through his nose. His stomach was settling but the anxiety and confusion remained. He didn't want to accept what the man was telling him. It was completely ludicrous. Nothing more than the fantasy of some sad-sack International Rescue wannabee who didn't know when to let go. If someone really _had_ been responsible for Wales then God knows it wouldn't have been this guy. And anyway, Alan would have known if it hadn't been an accident. He would have been told.

Surely he would have been told?

A trickle of doubt entered Alan's mind as he remembered his family's reaction to his accident and their resulting obsession with keeping him out of danger. That trickle became a stream, then a river as he remembered things he'd seen and heard – things he'd thought were stupid or insignificant at the time, but were beginning to make a horrible kind of sense. The general reluctance about the idea of him rejoining IR. His dad's flat-out refusal to have him involved. The private de-briefings. Gordon's comments. Tin-Tin's work. Her show-down with Fermat and Virgil…

This guy – this whack-job – was telling the truth. The mine collapse in Wales hadn't been an accident. It had been premeditated.

And they knew. They all knew.

* * *

><p>Kate paced back and forth, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. Scott was still leaning against the kitchen units and Gordon had plopped down onto a wooden chair, cradling his head in his hands. Now that all of the adrenaline had drained out of him, the actions of the day had caught up and he felt exhausted. Not physically so much; more emotionally. Discovering all that stuff about Kate, finally having it out with Scott and now closing in on Richard Wilcox –<p>

"He's not picking up." Kate thrust the phone at Scott. "This isn't going to work."

"Try again." Scott sounded as rough as Gordon felt; his voice was scratchy and strained.

"It's not working!"

"Just try again."

"But –"

"Kate, just for once will you stop arguing with everything I say? Try him again!"

Kate bit her lip and then hit redial. The phone returned to her ear and she resumed pacing. Up and down, up and down. Relentless. Hypnotic. More than a little annoying. Gordon was about to beg her to stop when she spun around suddenly, brown curls bouncing. "Richard? It's Kate."

Gordon looked up and Scott pushed away from the units as Kate said. "How are you?"

Gordon strained to catch the answer but Kate was standing too far away. He was about to move closer when Scott beat him to it.

"Fate? Do you mean you were waiting for my call or something?"

Scott put his hand on Kate's shoulder, making her jump. She shrugged him off. "That's great news! I'm so glad to hear your research is finally paying off."

"Ask him where he is," Scott ordered.

Kate gave him a hard look before turning her attention back to the phone. "It's nothing; you know I was happy to help."

"Kate –"

She covered the receiver with her palm. "You wanted me to do this, now let me do it _my_ way." Scott backed off, holding up his hands. Kate lifted the phone to her ear again. "Richard, sorry I didn't quite catch that."

As Gordon watched Kate frowned and adjusted her grip on the phone. "Richard – is there somebody there with you? Richard? Richard, can you hear me?" She pulled the phone away from her ear and studied it. "He's gone," she said, looking up at Scott.

Scott took the phone from her and pressed it to his own ear. Gordon leaned forward, the chair's back legs lifting off the ground. "You mentioned someone else …?"

"Yes, I'm sure I heard another person's voice – a man, I think."

"What did they say?"

Kate looked uncertain. Before she could reply, Scott dropped the phone onto the table. "Dead. I tried calling back but there was no answer. What this about another man?"

As Kate explained, Gordon took the initiative and patched a call through to John. "Did you get it?" he asked as soon as his older brother's face appeared on the screen.

"_I got it._" John paused, running a hand over his chin. "_You're not gonna like it_."

"Um, okay. And why am I not gonna like it?"

"_Because he's in Gisborne, New Zealand_."

"He's at the _rescue_?" Gordon burst out. "But he can't have had anything to do with it – it was an earthquake for God's sake. What is this guy, physic?"

"_Maybe just opportunistic_?" John shrugged. "_Whatever. He's there. And near the centre of the rescue site too_."

Gordon swore under his breath. Of all the places… "Can you be any more specific?"

John shook his head. "_I needed longer on the call. I can tell you that he's somewhere near the 'birds though; there's a patch of common ground in the northern area of the city where they were parked and he's in the area_."

"Let Dad know what you've found," Scott ordered, peering over Gordon's shoulder. "They need to be on the lookout. If they can grab Wilcox –"

"_We can all go home laughing_," John concluded. "_Alright, I'll let you know if anything happens_."

He cut the connection. Scott, Gordon and Kate all looked at each other. "Now what?" Kate asked finally.

Gordon shrugged. "We wait."

* * *

><p>When Alan hadn't returned with the batteries, Jeff had ordered Tin-Tin to track him down. Which was why instead of helping in the search to find the missing family, she was hurrying towards Thunderbird 2 to find her missing boyfriend, cursing him under her breath with every step. What was he <em>thinking<em>? Was this all some kind of juvenile rebellion against his father? Did he _want_ to be kicked out of International Rescue before he'd even officially returned?

The sad fact was that at any other time, Tin-Tin would probably have known the answer to those questions. But she'd been holding Alan at arm's length for weeks now, to the extent that they'd hardly spent any time together. She didn't know anymore what the situation with his father was like, or what his feelings were about returning to work so abruptly. The thought filled her with an uncomfortable amount of guilt and Tin-Tin shoved it aside.

She rounded the final corner and paused. The sleek blue rocket of Thunderbird 1 stood beside its sister, both crafts overshadowing the office blocks to the north of the city like some giant artist's sculptures. It was easy to become blasé when you were surrounded by the machines on a daily basis; easy to forget how awe-inspiring and beautiful they really were. Sometimes it was important to take a moment and remember. See it through other people's eyes.

It also gave Tin-Tin a good look at the area and showed that Alan was nowhere in sight. Great. Biting back a sigh, she activated her headmic.

"Tin-Tin to Alan. Alan come in please."

Like the three times she'd tried contacting him before, there was no reply. Wherever Alan was, he obviously wasn't wearing his helmet.

As hard as she tried not to, it was impossible not to give in to her rising irritation. This was typical Alan behaviour – selfish, unreliable and downright disrespectful. The kind of thing she'd come to expect from the old Alan and the kind of thing she thought had been firmly in the past. They were in the middle of a live rescue, for God's sake – how could he be so irresponsible?

She stalked across to Thunderbird 2, ducking under the wing and coming up alongside the belly. Everything looked quiet and still. She entered the code to lower the ramp, but nothing happened. Frowning, Tin-Tin entered the numbers again. Still nothing.

"Tin-Tin to Virgil."

There was a brief crackle of static and then Virgil's voice came through strongly. "_Virgil receiving_. _Go ahead Tin-Tin_."

"Have you changed the login code to Thunderbird 2?"

"_Sorry, what?_"

"The code. Have you changed it?"

"_No. Why_?"

"I can't get in." Tin-Tin tried the code for a third time without success. "Looks like the system's locked me out."

"_You must be entering the numbers wrong._"

"I'm not, I _know_ I'm not –"

"_Look, give me a sec and I'll get you the reset code._"

"But I didn't –" Tin-Tin blew out her breath in annoyance as Virgil cut the connection. She waited impatiently, eyes idly scanning the area. Aside from the looming bulk of the Thunderbirds, it was deserted. The evacuation teams had been busy.

The grass beneath the Thunderbirds was short and course, patches of dirt showing through. Old, faded white lines denoted a football pitch that had seen better days. Tin-Tin wandered away from the ship, kicking the dust up and watching as it circled around before sinking back to the ground again. She'd moved about twenty feet when something caught her eye. There was a strange hole in the ground, about the width of one finger. Like where a corner flag had been shoved maybe, expect this was nowhere near the corner of the field. Crouching down, Tin-Tin ran one gloved finger across the hole and found the ground was freshly disturbed. Maybe she'd walked this way earlier…?

"_Tin-Tin, are you alone?_"

Virgil voice made her jump. She rose, turning slowly to canvas the area. Still empty.

"Uh, yes. Why?"

"_Because we've got a problem._"

"You can't reset the code?"

"_The_ _code – ? No it's not that. Richard Wilcox, he's here. In New Zealand._"

Tin-Tin's eyes widened. "Here? But that's – this is an earthquake. Not a bomb. Why would he – this_ is _an earthquake, right?"

"_John swears so and I know better than to bet against him_." Virgil was silent for a few moments. "_Seems our guy's being opportunistic. Anyway, keep an eye out. If we can grab him now – "_

"We can end this, yeah I get it." Tin-Tin shook her head. For all this to be over… "Have there been any sightings?"

"_Not yet. Everyone on the rescue teams has been given a photograph; they'll shout if they see him. But considering his fascination with the 'birds –_"

"He could be near me." Tin-Tin looked down at the hole again and wondered.

"_And Alan_."

And Alan. Her face hardened. "If I see him, I'll bring him down."

"_Be careful_," Virgil cautioned. "_This guy's desperate enough to plant a load of bombs to draw in International Rescue; we don't know what he'll do if cornered._"

Tin-Tin remembered the edgy man she'd met back in Africa and didn't disagree. "I'll call in," she promised. "Now do you have the code? I need to find out where Alan's got to before he stumbles across Wilcox himself."

* * *

><p><em>Why didn't they tell me<em>?

Nausea gave way to rage. Alan surged up from the floor, whipping the gun around to aim at the stranger. He didn't even know the guy's name but the impulse to pull the trigger was so strong that he had to put the safety on to stop himself from doing it. This man, this snivelling, pathetic excuse for a human being, was the reason he'd almost died. Was the reason he'd spent three months of his life in a coma. Was the reason everyone was _lying_ to him, and _whispering_ behind his back and _shutting him out_ of IR!

"Why?" Alan shouted, cutting of the man's monologue. "Why did you do it? What, was life not _exciting_ enough for you? Got bored of messing around in your bedroom with your third-grade physics set and decided to play with the big boys instead? Woke up one morning and thought, I know what would make my life complete – blowing up a mine!"

The man back-pedalled, eyes widening. "No, it wasn't like that!"

"Then what _was_ it like? You just happened to be out for a morning stroll with a crappy little home-made bomb?"

"It was just an – an experiment! You must see that I didn't have a choice. I had to convince them I belonged there and it was the _perfect_ plan –"

"Wait a minute… an experiment? An _experiment_? You blew up a mine as part of some sick, twisted science experiment?" Alan's whole body was shaking, his breath coming in short sharp bursts. "Are you _insane_? Do you have any idea how much damage you caused? How many lives you ruined?"

"But the blast – I made sure the blast was localised." The man looked genuinely bewildered. "There was no real danger… I just needed time to examine your ships so I created a situation you'd have to respond to."

"There were people _trapped inside the mine_," Alan hissed. "Four miners died that day. Two of my bro – of my team were injured and you say there was no danger? You killed people!"

"N-No, no you're lying!"

"Yeah? Well is this a lie too?" Alan raked back his blond hair, revealing a jagged scar at the base of his hairline. "This is where I fractured my skull. Do you know how that happened? Because you blew up a mine in Wales!"

"That's not – I didn't…"

"Four men died! Men with wives and children and _lives_. How can you – how can you justify that?"

The man gaped at him. Alan got the impression he really hadn't known about the dead miners – or at least, hadn't made the connection between his actions and their deaths – but if anything this only made him angrier. How could this psycho have been so cavalier with other people's lives? And for what? Some intel on the Thunderbirds? For some kind of… _science project_?

Alan had never thought seriously about hurting anyone before. During the incident with the Hood he'd been too young and too scared to consider anything beyond keeping his family safe. But now… now there was no one else here. No one else to consider. And instead of being afraid, Alan felt empowered. The gun felt comfortable in his hand and he curled his fingers around the trigger.

The man had pulled his notebook out and was thumbing through it, mumbling to himself. His hands were visibly shaking but he seemed more concerned about his calculations than anything Alan had said. The death of the miners, the damage to International Rescue, the loss of six months of his life… the man's indifference was all the incentive Alan needed to turn on him, ripping the notebook from his hands and shoving him up against the wall. He pressed the gun into the man's neck and made a big show of removing the safety, revelling in the fear grow in his abductor's eyes. It would be so easy to fire and end this all here. His finger tightened around the trigger and for a moment, just a moment, he imagined himself pulling it.

"You don't care, do you?" Alan whispered. "You don't care about those men you killed, about the operatives you injured. Or even about the damage you did to the man who's pointing a gun at you." He held the notebook up. As soon as the man noticed, he strained towards it. "All you care about is this – whatever the hell it is. Tell me something: was it really worth it? Four people's lives? All that destruction? _Was it really worth it_?"

"P-Please… just – just let me have my numbers –" The man grabbed for the notebook but Alan dodged his hands and shoved him backwards so hard that he hit Thunderbird 2's bulkhead and slid down onto the ground. "You really want it that much? Fine. Here you go." Alan began tearing pages out of the notebook, screwing them up and throwing them onto the floor, or tearing them into little pieces. "This is all your work is worth!" he yelled.

"No!" A scream erupted from the man's throat. He shot up from the ground like a hunting cat, all bared teeth and claws, and threw himself at Alan. All remnants of sanity had fled, giving him almost supernatural strength and Alan soon found himself struggling to stay on his feet. His back hit the bulkhead hard, the sudden pain making him gasp and he changed tack, throwing the remains of the notebook across the hold. As the man turned to reclaim it, Alan smashed the butt of the gun down across the back of his head. The stranger crumpled like a stone.

Panting, Alan sagged back against the bulkhead. The man lay motionless before him, surrounded by a sea of white paper, like some kind of twisted new-age meadow. Overwhelmed, Alan slipped the gun inside his uniform and then pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, blocking everything out. He remained like that for several long seconds, breathing in the darkness and wishing it would swallow him whole.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Defiance

**A/N: **I've had most of this chapter written for a while, but there was a bit I was struggling with. Finally got it sorted, so here you go!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen: Defiance<strong>

It was this scene that greeted Tin-Tin when she stepped up the ramp and into Thunderbird 2. A man crumpled on the floor – wait, Wilcox? – sheets of paper littering the hold and Alan, a gun at his feet, hands covering his face.

For a moment she just stood there, hardly able to take it all in. Then instinct kicked in and she yanked off her helmet and ran across to Alan, pulling his hands away from his face. "Alan? Alan, are you okay?"

He pushed her away with such force that she stumbled and almost fell. Tin-Tin shoved her hair back out of her eyes and tried again, approaching him more cautiously, hands outstretched. "Alan…?"

He met her eyes and the pain she saw there made the breath catch in her throat.

"I think you'll want to take him into custody now," he said, back to her. "He's done a lot of damage. Hurt a lot of people."

Without another word, he turned, walked passed her and disappeared down the ramp. Tin-Tin stared after him, her mind struggling to process everything. He knew. _Alan knew_. She took a few steps towards the ramp and then hesitated, looking back over her shoulder. Wilcox hadn't moved, but his chest was rising and falling so at least he wasn't dead. Unconscious then, but for how long?

Tin-Tin wavered. Wilcox needed to be secured. Now. He was a wanted felon in more than four continents. He had to be restrained and then handed over to the authorities. But Alan – Alan needed her. The expression on his face… it made Tin-Tin feel ill to remember it. She'd seen him like that once before: when he'd woken from his coma and learned what had happened to him. And the darkness that had followed – Tin-Tin pushed those memories aside. No, not again. _Never again_.

In the end, it wasn't really a decision at all.

Hurrying over to Wilcox, Tin-Tin checked his pulse. Steady and regular. She pulled off his glasses and checked his pupils. Everything fine there too. As a panicked afterthought she pulled his anorak back, looking for bullet holes. Nothing; apart from the nasty looking bruise that was forming on his forehead, she couldn't find anything wrong. It was almost a pity, Tin-Tin thought, face hardening, remembering the devastated farmers back in Africa and the pale, nervous man who'd fooled them all. Wilcox deserved more than a bruise after what he'd done.

With effort, she pulled the man's arm out from under him. He was heavier than he looked and it took some time for Tin-Tin to drag him across to one of the hold's metal benches. Large enough for three people to sit comfortable side by the side, the benches blended seamlessly into the bulkhead. You'd need a heavy duty blowtorch to melt through all that metal and unless Wilcox had someone like Brains working with him, there was no danger of that happening.

Snatching up the gun, she ducked into the medical bay and locked it inside one of the secured cabinets there. She pocketed the key and then rifled through the drawers, looking for supplies and mentally thanking Virgil for his anal-retentive habits. No matter what time of the day or night, Thunderbird 2's med bay was always better stocked than most major city hospitals.

Returning to the hold, she secured Wilcox to the bench using soft-restraints and then gave him a sedative for good measure. Sitting back on her heels, Tin-Tin watched him carefully for several long moments but he didn't even twitch. Satisfied, she hit a few buttons on her watch and lifted it to her lips.

"Tin-Tin calling all International Rescue personnel. I've found Wilcox. Repeat, I've found Wilcox."

A barrage of voices cut across the silence in the hold.

"_You've found him? Where?_" That was Virgil.

"_Have you engaged him_?" Jeff's Tracy's brusque tones were impossible to mistake.

Even John joined in, "_Hold on a sec Tin-Tin – I'll get a lock on your position_."

Tin-Tin cut across them. "No need – Wilcox has already been neutralised. He's secure in the hold of Thunderbird 2".

"Inside_ Two_? _But that's –"_

"_That's where she's calling from_," John confirmed.

"_What happened_?" Jeff demanded.

"I don't know. I found him unconscious." Tin-Tin paused and took a deep breath. "Alan was with him. He must have been the one who… I think he knows. He was acting really strange and just walked off – I have to go after him –"

"_You need to stay with Wilcox_," Jeff corrected. "_We can't risk losing him. Not even for Alan_."

"But you don't –"

"_Tin-Tin, watch Wilcox. We'll deal with whatever Alan knows later. Virgil, have the family been found yet?_"

"_Not yet. But I think the team here could cope without me_."

"_Good. Go and help Tin-Tin with Wilcox. John, contact the local police and explain the situation. We have to do this by the book if we're going to bring Wilcox down and we'll need their help_."

"_FAB_."

"_I'll let Scott and Gordon know –_"

Dealing with Alan later was the smart decision, Tin-Tin knew. They were in the middle of an active rescue, a family was still missing, a prolific global terrorist was currently tied up in Thunderbird 2's hold… one man's feelings kind of paled in comparison, even if that man was Jeff Tracy's son. But the right decision? Hell no. Not this time. Not when Alan had just found out the truth about Wilcox and not when waiting until _later_ had already cost him too much.

Tin-Tin checked Wilcox over one last time and then rose, tucking stray bits of hair that had come loose from her ponytail back behind her ears. "I'm going after Alan," she announced calmly.

There was a surprised silence and then, "_Tin-Tin, I told you to remain with Wilcox_."

"I know. But I can't."

"_You'll do as you're ordered_," Jeff told her sharply, voice hardening.

Her hands were trembling. Tin-Tin balled them into fists. "How long's it going to take Virgil to get here? Ten minutes? Twenty? Someone needs to go after Alan _now_, not later. Someone needs to explain all of this to him before he – Wilcox is secure and sedated, he's not going anywhere in a hurry. And Virgil'll be here soon. I've done my duty – now I'm going after Alan."

"_Tin-Tin –_"

Tin-Tin cut the connection, heart pounding so loudly it echoed inside her head. She'd just flat-out defied Jeff Tracy. She'd never done that before. Never even _considered _it. Jeff Tracy was her superior. The founder and leader of International Rescue. The man who's island she and her family lived on. The man who's _house_ she and her family lived in. And she'd just basically told him where to shove it.

Tin-Tin forced herself to calm down before she gave in to the urge to call back and pour apologises across the airwaves. She'd made her choice; it was done. Nothing she could do now and nothing to be gained by worrying. Any consequences – and she was sure there _would_ be consequences – could damn well wait. She had more important things to focus on right now.

* * *

><p>When Tin-Tin ran down the ramp, shielding her eyes against the sun, she wasn't surprised to see that Alan was nowhere in the sight. What did surprise her was how easily she found him. To the left of the Thunderbirds and the sports fields was a children's play area, full of brightly coloured equipment and loose wood chippings. It was ringed by wooden benches, where anxious mothers could watch their children slide and swing to their hearts' content.<p>

Alan was sitting on one of the swings, moving slowly back and forth. Tin-Tin ran up to the fence surrounding the playground, opened the metal gate and picked her way across the wood chips. The swing next to Alan was one of those little ones, designed for kids, so Tin-Tin bumped it out of the way with her hip and knelt down in front of Alan instead. For a moment she just sat there, searching for something to say and coming up blank. What _could_ she say? Alan knew everything. That he'd almost been killed by a madman. That they had all lied to his face about it, for months on end. Then to come face to face with Wilcox himself… how could words possibly fix this?

Still, she had to try.

"I don't know what I can say that will make things okay. I could apologize, but I guess… I guess that won't exactly mean much right now. We were just… trying to protect you." She winced and shook her head. "God, that sounds so cliché. And it's no excuse, I know. But Alan, the way you were after the – the coma, the way you were was… it was terrifying. It felt like we'd lost you, even though you were still there in front of us. If there was even a chance that knowing all of this would tip you back into that state again – we couldn't take the risk."

He wouldn't look at her. Just kept his gaze on his feet, toes gently stirring the bark chips, blonde curls obscuring his expression. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. If he was even listening.

"I found out after the African mission. Or during it, I guess you could say. If I hadn't, I don't think they would have told me. They knew how much I – they knew I wouldn't agree. And I didn't. I really didn't. Your father – he had to give me a direct order. And even then I almost told you. But the risk – I knew they were right, I really did…"

Tin-Tin paused and closed her mouth. She'd felt compelled to explain, to justify what she'd done, but she was just babbling a bunch of useless excuses and platitudes. Alan didn't care about the whys and the hows. He'd just found out the horror of the last year hadn't been an accident. That it had, ultimately, been avoidable. And that his family had known all about it. He should be tearing his hair out and screaming at Tin-Tin. Slamming doors and stamping his feet. Not sitting quietly on a swing, head bowed.

It was all too chillingly familiar to Tin-Tin. In trying to protect Alan, had they just pushed him right back into his introspective depression?

"Alan… please talk to me."

Nothing. It was like he didn't even know she was there.

"Alan?" She touched his knee. "Alan, please, we have to talk about this!"

Again she was ignored. Tin-Tin bit her lip. She couldn't let him do this, not again. Not when he'd finally been making progress. Not when her Alan had finally been making his way back to her.

_No_, she thought furiously._ Not again. Not while I'm here._

"Why aren't you angry?" she asked abruptly, voice hard. Harder than she had intended, but at least the words finally got a reaction. Alan tensed and his swing slowed to a stop. But still, he didn't say anything.

"You should be _furious_," she pressed. "Shouting. Arguing. _Something. _Not just – just _sitting there_." Tin-Tin stood up, brushing down her legs, using her greater height to loom over him. "You just found out the Welsh mine disaster wasn't an accident. That a man you don't know almost killed you and that your entire family kept this from you. Don't you feel _anything_?"

She could see her words getting to him. His breathing was coming faster and his hands, where they gripped the metal chain of the swing, were white. The sight of it, and the knowledge that she was the one doing this to him, made her feel sick.

"We lied to you, Alan! We wrapped you up in cotton wool because we were so afraid you were going to break. We kept you away from IR, we avoided you, we whispered when your back was turned. So I'm asking you again, _why aren't you angry_?"

"What makes you think I'm not?" The words were torn from his throat against his will; she could hear it in his voice. But that head remained bowed.

"Because you're just sitting there like some kind of – of stuffed mannequin!" Tin-Tin cried. "Where's the emotion? Where are the accusations? Where are the feelings?" Hands on her hips, hating herself for it, she bore down on him relentlessly. "Do you think I'm just going to let you crawl back into that hole of yours, after all this time? Because I'm not! I'm going to stand _right _here, and I'm not going to leave you alone until you start talking to me and _tell me how you feel_!"

"You want to know how I feel?" Alan surged up from the swing, revealing a face that was pale underneath his tan and streaked with tears. Tin-Tin stumbled backwards under the force of the look in his eyes. "I feel like this has to be some kind of great cosmic joke. That it can't be real because life couldn't possibly hate me _this _much. And, anyway, someone would have told me right? My dad, my brothers, my best friend. You. You would have told me, wouldn't you Tin-Tin? I mean, they say that trust is the basis of all good relationships, so of course you would have told me. Except this _isn't_ a joke and you _didn't_ tell me and I had to find out from a complete stranger with a gun pointed at my head. Do you have any idea – and you wanna know how I feel? _This is how I feel! And this –_" he slammed his hand against the metal swing support, " – and _this_ –" he kicked the swing, sending it spinning into the children's one beside it, " – and _this_!" He grabbed Tin-Tin by the shoulders and shook her. "_Are you happy now_?" he demanded, thrusting his face into hers.

Fingers shaking at the fury she'd unleashed, Tin-Tin reached up and traced a teartrack down Alan's cheek. "No," she whispered. "Because you're hurting and I love you."

For an endless moment, they stood there, her hand on his face, his fingers digging into her shoulders hard enough to bruise. Then a muscle in Alan's jaw twitched and his face crumpled. Tin-Tin wrapped her arms around him as he collapsed against her, shoulders shaking, gulping in breath, and they both sank down onto the ground. She ran her fingers through Alan's golden curls while he clutched her convulsively, head cushioned against her chest, face pressed against her uniform.

She held him until he stopped shuddering, until his breathing slowed and he was still. After several minutes had passed, Tin-Tin drew back slightly and touched his cheek. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm tired," Alan whispered hoarsely. "Tired of being angry; tired of being lied to; tired of being scared. Tired of feeling like I'm going to break. Just… tired. Every time I think it's going to start getting better, something else pops up to kick me in the teeth."

He sounded so broken that she would have done anything to take the pain away from him. She took his hand, lacing their fingers together, but it just felt so insufficient.

"That man almost killed me. Twice, apparently. I shouldn't have had to work it out, but I did. He started talking about Wales and France and the 'birds and I just – I just _knew_." There was a pause. "Then I had the gun and he was just standing there and I –"

Tin-Tin's heart skipped a beat. There hadn't been any blood in the hold, she was almost sure of that. Almost.

"You didn't fire it."

"I wanted to."

"But you didn't."

"No."

Thank God. Tin-Tin literally felt the relief flow through her.

"I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Bastard's taken enough from me already." Alan laughed, a harsh, jarring sound that was devoid of humour. "Everything he's done and I don't even know his name."

"It's Richard Wilcox."

Alan was quiet for a moment. "I thought you weren't supposed to tell me anything."

Tin-Tin shook her head. "I don't care about that anymore. I'll tell you whatever you want to know – everything, I'll tell you everything, I promise."

His fingers tightened unconsciously around hers. "How can I trust you to tell me the truth?"

The question hurt. It sent an almost physical pain right into Tin-Tin's gut. Not just because he had said it, or because of the look on his face. But because he was right.

"You can't," she said helplessly. "I lied to you – I hated it, but I still did it. And now –"

He raised his head and his blue eyes were sombre. "Tell me."

And so she did. She told him everything she knew, from meeting Wilcox in Africa to finding out about the whole sordid mess. And she didn't try to hide her part in it or gloss over anything – Alan deserved to know exactly what had happened.

He just sat there and listened. Didn't make any comments, didn't interrupt. Just listened in a way that the old Alan, the pre-accident Alan never would have. She worried that nothing she'd tried had worked, that he was withdrawing again and hiding behind his silence, but when her words had run dry, he finally spoke up.

"Thank you."

Just two words, but a whole world of emotion. Tin-Tin blew out a relieved breath. It was a start.


End file.
